Sunken Hopes: The 176th Hunger Games
by Wisteria22
Summary: Last year's Hunger Games was phenomenal. Now, the Head Gamemaker has to make them just as spectacular this year, or risk losing her life. Join Tributes from each of the Thirteen Districts in the arena, where the ticking clock is counting down to the end of their lives...Who will win? Who will lose? Welcome to the 176th Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor..NOT A SYOT
1. The Fight Begins Again

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. These Tributes were provided to me by friends (one of my friends is a bit late getting theirs done, so we'll see if I'll be making a District Two male). However, I do own the Gremlin family…**

Once again, the Capitol had become completely enthralled with their Quarter Quell. The mutations had been excellent, the battles positively divine, and the Victor one that they hadn't expected until the very end. Parties went on and on for countless nights, in this city that truly never sleeps, causing headaches to come to those who tried to rest each night. Eventually, even they had realized that it had been futile, proceeding to go outside and join the rest of the celebrations.

Months ago, the newest Victor had set off on the Victory Tour, another one of their favorite pastimes. Speeches, festivities, and galas were held at the lucky District; the other Districts would just have to wait for their chance of glory. Of course, the Capitol would always have the lights shining, the music booming, and their future looking bright. Nothing morbid had really ever touched their doorstep, not since the murder of Althea and Theseus Gremlin, the brother and sister-in-law of their beloved president. But they had been able to fawn over young Copper, whom had been commanded to bed rest after experiencing some awful disease; the entire population had been in tears that very day. Yet when Datura Gremlin had risen to power as the Head Gamemaker, a record being broken at now twenty years of age, everything looked bright once again to them.

But alas, that wouldn't be the same thing for the Tributes. Her hair now dyed a soft blonde, Datura positively loved this arena more than the last, overflow ideas already stockpiled for the next Hunger Games that she would be working on. Having the Hunger Games on sacred ground had been a rather lame Quarter Quell twist in her opinion, but it had proved to be one of the most exciting Hunger Games the Capitol had ever seen. And during it, inspiration had struck, from one of the dullest and most over thought things in the history of the world.

"The Mayan Calendar…," Datura mused, running her hands over the model of her arena, "A countdown to the end of all days…"

Surely, this had been a brilliant idea for her. The arena will be in the mild of the ocean, with grand beaches and for the most part, a tropical feel. Of course, Datura did love the evergreen trees, so the north side would be a completely different environment; she was positive that the different forest types would astound the Capitol audience. A countdown, one hour per Tribute from each of the Thirteen Districts, would be erected grandly at the Cornucopia. Each time death struck in the arena, another hour would be added to it, encouraging the blood lust in all of the Tributes.

"When the time runs out…," she continued, "Disaster is said to strike. Just like it will in my arena, Uncle."

President Gremlin looked slightly wary at the idea, though his mind ran through the endless possibilities, "But that would only by a thrill once, Datura…"

Shaking her head, Datura fully revealed her plans, promising for a terrifying Hunger Games. It looked to be even better than last year's Hunger Games, where the Tributes had been chased around in a mine by a Minotaur. Countdown to disaster, none of the other Gamemakers had considered that, but she even improved it again. Whenever the time ran out, and the disaster had finished, the countdown would reset, an hour for each of the remaining Tributes.

Three Tributes left, three hours until one of them would have to emerge as the Victor.

"Interesting…," President Gremlin murmured, sipping a bit of his scotch, "And what was it you dubbed this arena?"

Datura smirked cruelly, already waiting for the list of Tributes, her toys, to be brought to her desk, "An Island of Sunken Hope, Uncle."

President Gremlin grinned, nodding his head firmly at his beloved niece. Sitting on the oak table rested the list of Tributes, as all of the Reapings had commenced, with District Thirteen still needing to be wrapped up. Skimming over the names and ages, the old man cherished this moment, reveling in the fact that terror would be coming off of the faces of these new people. Not to mention, two interesting young people, who he'd paid a special visit to, were even on this list. Recalling the firm conversation that he had had with his niece, in which she informed her that her choice in Victor hadn't been up to snuff, President Gremlin hoped that she would choose widely. Otherwise, Panem would be short a Gamemaker for the very next Hunger Games…

_District One_

_Female: Prodigy Mallord (18)_

_Male: Ribbon Layfeyette (18)_

_District Two_

_Female: Avalon Argo (17)_

_Male: _

_District Three_

_Female: Emiliana Vincere (16)_

_Male: Mika Lizt (13)_

_ District Four_

_Female: Sapphire Riddle (15)_

_Male: Caspian Cavaliere (15)_

_ District Five_

_Female: Marlene Rosenthall (16)_

_Male: Jeremy Carath (18)_

_District Six_

_Female: Soxalia Chia (14)_

_Male: Morgan Blake (18)_

_District Seven_

_Female: Aria Mallows (15)_

_Male: Benjamin Romulus (15)_

_District Eight_

_Female: Natalie McDoe (17)_

_Male: Jaspe Hallindale (16)_

_District Nine_

_Female: Ivy Montina (15)_

_Male: Emyrus Lapworth (13)_

_District Ten_

_Female: Amya Kessim (16)_

_Male: Jango Trian (18)_

_District Eleven_

_Female: Abrielle Miyo (12)_

_Male: Lotus Hakoda (15)_

_District Twelve_

_Female: River Wolfsbane (14)_

_Male: Shiloh Iscani (13)_

_District Thirteen_

_Female: Cylana Ellis (15)_

_Male: Arko Blue (16)_

**Right, I'll start posting Reaping chapters in a week. I have to go PM a lot of people now…**

**Also, at the end of each chapter I'd like for you to vote for your Tributes in your review. Tell me who your favorite Tributes are, because it's going to help me as an author...You can vote on this chapter though, just based off of their names I guess.  
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**20: Favorite  
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**15: Second Favorite  
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**10: Third Favorite  
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**5: Fourth Favorite  
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	2. District One Reaping

_Prodigy Mallord (18), District One Female-POV_

Shifting slightly in my bed, this nagging feeling keeps poking at me. Trying to ignore it doesn't help either, as it persists in making me open my eyes to greet the day; I give in eventually. Curiously, the clock reads 7:30 AM, something unexpected and unusual for me. Shouldn't my father come in yelling any moment now? That it's time to get back to training? Straining my hearing for a moment, all I can hear is the quiet chirps of the birds as they perch themselves on top of the telephone wires. No commotion coming from downstairs, in which my mother tries to tell him to let me sleep; a cold bucket of water usually graces my skin on those days. Not that I minded it that much, as it's only going to help me prepare for the Hunger Games, that way I can bring honor to the Mallord family and District One. Our Tributes last year had been pathetic, and I would know, as I'd been in class with the boy; neither of them made it to the final eight.

Ah yes, the Reaping is today; all over the country, children in the lower Districts are shaking in their boots. But I'm not scared, not at all, as emotion is merely a weakness that inhibits you; I learned that much from my father. Ever since I had been a little girl, around three years old, he'd been pushing me as hard as I could each day. Whenever I cried because of being weary, Dad would squirt lemon juice in my eyes, that way I'd have a real thing to cry about; I applaud him for it now. Back then, it had just unnerved me for a moment, before my determination grew and grew; no one is going to be able overlook me now. If his methods still didn't work, then Dad would simulate drowning by forcing my head into a bucket of water. Not too much later, people found me swimming every day at the tiny beach; there could be anything in the arena, I would need to be prepared in order to face it. That lesson had been drilled into my head, more so since my sister, Helena, had been born blind; there was no way that she would be able to compete in the Hunger Games.

"Prodigy!" my mother's voice called out, "Get ready to go! We need to be at the station in ten minutes or we'll miss the Reaping!"

"Coming!" I call out, listening to how emotionless my voice sounds; perfect.

Pushing off the covers of my bed, which are a faded blue color, it takes me only a minute to spot my Reaping outfit. Of course, it isn't very hard at all, given that it's the only red item in a room full of blue hues. Walking stiffly over to it, part of me looks at it in disgust, but I know that I'll want to wear it today. All of those idiots in the Capitol aren't poor, and it goes to show that the prettier, sexier, and more glamorous Tributes tend to get the most items sponsored; I'm hoping for a small army of sponsors. Grabbing the dress, I pause only slightly to think about how many people would have killed to be in my position. Smirking slightly, I know that Envy would have been a fine name for me as well; everyone knew that I would be the Victor of this Hunger Games, the newest one since Enyo won a little while ago. It would be grand, marvelous, and magnificent; it'd also keep Dad from pressuring Helena to train for the Hunger Games, despite her disability.

I slip on the dress, only taking a moment of my time to look at my appearance; it would need to be Capitol ready today. A deep red dress, a shade off from the color of blood, adorns my body. The fabric conceals my left shoulder, leaving the right shoulder bare; my stark pale skin contrasts beautifully. Around the middle of my thigh, the glamorous fabric ends, exposing my toned calves; my entire body was lean from hours upon hours of training. Smirking slightly into the mirror, I kick on my black flats before tucking a strand of brown hair behind my ear; there, perfection at last. A bluish-green color, my eyes radiate confidence, not to mention a steely edge that should scare the daylights out of anyone who dares to try and Volunteer this year; it's going to be my year and nothing is going to stop it. Soon enough, Aelius Templesmith is going to announce that I've won the One Hundred and Seventy Sixth Hunger Games; redeeming District One after the pitiful losses we had experienced last year, not to mention the rest of the Career Pack. As soon as I can, I'm going to establish myself as the leader and create two groups, one to hunt during the day, and the other to hunt during the night. Strategy is going to be key; too many underdogs have been winning the Hunger Games lately, a fact that bothered me fiercely.

"Prodigy!" my mother shrieks, "Get down here right now! We don't have all flipping day!"

Growling, I slowly turned my gaze to the firmly shut door, picturing it bursting down into flames, "I AM COMING!"

Tugging on my hair doesn't help, it doesn't make my anger go away, and the wood door appears to be the perfect target for me. Rushing over to it, I fold my fingers in to make a palm heel, punching through the door like butter; a couple splinters lodge themselves in my finger, but I don't care in the slightest. It's not the first time that I've broken this door either; Dad already bought a spare one, just in case I had another fit like this one. Screeching, I slammed the door open, stomping and huffing my entire way down the elegant staircase. On purpose, the red carpet that lines it becomes crumpled and horrid looking; a smirk of delight forms on my face. No one, and I mean no one, should have the privilege to tell me what I'm supposed to do; I'm the one that is going to be in charge, no matter what.

"Uh," Mother starts, exasperation evident in her tone of voice, "Why on earth do you behave like this? Try to set a good example for Helena- all she knows is that you're screaming all day long! I never wanted you to become like this…a monster! Prodigy Mallord, I order you-"

Having enough of this, I quickly step over and clamp my hand over her mouth. It's not going to hurt her or anything, but Mother's green eyes widen in shock, as if she can't believe how annoying I find her. If I had wanted to take her life, and then believe me, I would have done it a long time ago; but I'm not going to, as Mother is the only one that stands against Dad training Helena, besides me of course. Helena appeared to be a carbon copy of me, and at only thirteen years old, she'd never known what the sun looked like when it rose in the sky. She'd never know the beautiful blue hues that paint the lake that I swam in, the shinning and glittering lights that covered our District, or what the horrors of the Hunger Games truly were. But to Helena's credit, people wouldn't have known she was blind, as she has a very adept sense of hearing; sometimes I believe that Dad forgets that as well.

"Look, I know that you're scared of Dad and I. Just leave me along; I'm not going to hurt you. But let me make this clear…no and I mean _no one _dares to order me around," I threaten, staring into Mother's eyes like a predator would look at their prey.

As soon as she nods frantically, I remove my hand and wipe it on Mother's sleeve; I'm not going to have her saliva covering me all day long. Especially not this day, the day that I finally rise to the status of Victor and become recognized across Panem as a force to be reckoned with. This is what I had been working for all these long and tiresome years hadn't it? Pushing those types of thoughts, the thoughts that would have me chicken out of entering the Hunger Games on my last eligible year; I march out of the house with Helena on my trail. Dad must have already gone early, waiting for the moment that I live his dream and win; it was my dream too, right? Huffing ever so slightly, I mask my emotions, that way no one could see the small bits of uncertainty that are beginning to build up inside; there wasn't any reason at all for me to feel that way.

After all, I'm going to win the Hunger Games.

_Ribbon Layfeyette (18), District One Male-POV_

It must have been have an hour before our train finally pulls in to the station, located right next to District One. While this isn't true for the outer Districts, the higher the District number is, the larger it is going to be. Because of this, some of us who live on the outskirts have to take on the trains, which are painstakingly slow, as if the District Six people have been doing this on purpose. Z insisted on several occasions that they were, and that's why we should be sure to kill off all of their Tributes, for potentially making us late to our Reapings. Most of the time I just ignore him, as he's annoying, so much so that…

_ I'm annoying? What about you? If anyone is annoying, it's Mr. Katrie Combe…Oh look! I can hear bells! Here comes the dork! Here comes the dork! Here comes the dorkiest dork of the…dorks. Hehehehe... Like my song?_

Really, Z? Of all the people that ended up in my head, it just had to be you. We have literally nothing in common, and somehow, you always insist on driving me insane. Not to mention how exhausted I get whenever you take control; the only thing good that comes out of it is you train my body.

_Don't you mean our body? Two minds in one body, means sharing! Have you ever heard of sharing, silly boy?_

Just shut up, Z, I think back in reply. No answer comes, which means he's probably gone off to pout in whatever corner of my, I mean, our head that he could find. But then again, I don't even think that heads would have corners, as they're a generally rounded shape…Yeah, that's why Z is the one who trains for the Hunger Games, not me; I lose focus so much that I've been labeled as hopeless. According to Lorelai, the only chance I have of, "winning is if Z saves your sorry butt, which I know he will, loser." Despite the fact that she hates me, Lorelai has this crush on Z, who according to the doctors is just a symptom of something called MPD.

_I am not a symptom! If anyone is a symptom, it's you! I mean, come on? Ribbon? That sounds like a girly name! Oooh! Look over here everyone! It's Ribbon stinking Layfeyette! _

Eventually, the rare thing happens; Z shuts up for once in a lifetime. Probably because the train has finally skidded to a halt, causing all of us potential Tributes to clamber off of it, cheering when the flustered conductor announces that trip was free of charge. On most Reaping days, that tends to be the case, that way no one is discouraged from Volunteering because they don't want to look poor in front of the rest of the District. In the end, it is pretty evident of who has money; a rich girl in a blood red dress whips past me, smirking a bit as if she sensed my thoughts. But really, most of our Victors didn't have the best living conditions when they went into the Hunger Games, and it's become a common economic strategy for people in District One, along with the other Career Districts. Of course, it's not like I actually needed the money, since my father is a well known jeweler in the District; he does custom work for the richest people in the Capitol quite often.

"Oh Ribbon, you just look divine!" Mom gushes, latching herself onto my arm as soon as she exits the train cart, with my father's arm held in her grasp as well, "I always did know that my little boy would be a Victor!"

"Thanks, Mom," I reply, smiling slightly even though I try to imagine that the Hunger Games don't exist, that children aren't murdered each and every year, "I'll try my best to make you proud."

For a moment, I glance down at the Reaping outfit they had forced me into, but not without Z letting out a couple of nasty comments about it. Black slacks, with a button down shirt in the same shade, I'd actually thought that he would have enjoyed wearing it. Tugging at the color slightly, the eagle eye of my mother catches the movement, with a short scolding being instantly given. They'd always been controlling like that, wanting me to enter the Hunger Games, yet I have no intentions at all of Volunteering. Sure, I'd feel a bit guilty about disappointing them, as my parents are just trying to do what is best for me, but I don't want to be affiliated with the merciless slaughter that takes place in the arena.

"You will son, you will. Just remember to Volunteer, before they've read the name out, and I assure you that we'll be watching you in the Capitol by tomorrow," Dad says, probably trying to be encouraging, yet the harsh tone of voice he always seems to use comes out more as a command.

_Don't worry, Dad! I won't forget! Little Ribbon might, if he gets too distracted though…But I won't! I'm Z! Oh and Ribbon, like my new catchphrase? When you get shocked, Z goes pop! It almost rhymes, too, even better! _

Squeezing my hand together, I try to prevent myself from talking to Z out loud, as most people in the District already think that I'm crazy. Because of this, I really don't have all too many friends, while with my charming good looks, Mom had been sure that I'd be popular instantly. I guess that stunning blue eyes and cropped blonde hair isn't good enough for people if sanity doesn't come along with it; problem is that I'm not the insane one. Ever since I could remember, Z has been in my friend, and up until I was five years old, the two of us had been best of friends. We're lucky that we didn't try and kill each other until up to that point, as each of us would really love our own body; too bad that probably isn't going to happen any time soon. Especially after Z tried to murder my, well I guess our, parents; that's when I stopped letting him take over whenever he wanted to.

_I can take over whenever I want to, silly boy! They're going to you alive in the arena, I can tell! Lorelai knows that too…Even pathetic Katrie Combe. Oh yes, the silly girl with the dead cousin who loves little Ribbon! Oh look, it's the bells again! Here comes the dork!_

Cut it out, Z! You know that I don't feel about Katrie that way! She's just a friend. And as for the dead cousin, it isn't her fault that Cashmere died last year; blame District Ten if you have to, Z! Slamming up my mental walls, whatever little cries of insults that Z would have worked up are lost, with an odd silence echoing throughout my mind. According to the doctors, people aren't supposed to have other people in their head, though I still wonder if there's another person out there like Z and I. Of course, my thoughts are cut short as I hug my mother goodbye, right before being shoved into line for the DNA confirmation by my father. He'd always wanted a warrior son, so I crack a small smile and nod at him, hoping that will please him; evidently, it doesn't.

_If you really wanted to impress him, then you should have let me be the one in charge…I'm the type of person that he wants to be his son, Ribbon. _

Ignoring him as always, I step forward obediently when the Capitol lady motions for me to come forward. Holding out my finger, she jabs it with the needle, causing me to wince; some of the kids around me give disgusted glances at that behavior. After she smears some of my blood onto a little piece of paper, which confirms that I really am Ribbon Layfeyette, they allow me to go into my sectioned area, right at the very front of the stage; twelve year olds stand in the back, that way they won't get caught up in the fray caused by the Volunteers. Of course, my friend Talon has an uncanny ability to predict exactly who is going to be going into the Hunger Games, with only occasionally being wrong; last year, he'd said that our female Tribute would Volunteer, when she had been Reaped instead. He'd taken that pretty hard, as his parents had raised him to be a perfectionist and pretty much succeeded, with the exception that he'll gladly rant on about them whenever you lend an ear.

Tia Adessi, a well known Escort for District One, steps out onto the stage. Smiling from ear to ear, she makes her usually speech about how the Hunger Games were designed, the history behind them, and the grand bond that ties us all together because of it. Upon playing the clip, a gruesome retelling of each of the rebellions, with the execution of the Mockingjay shown at the end, all I can focus on is the glittering dress she's wearing. Not that I'm attracted to her, but mainly because it appears to be made out of icicles; probably one of the better outfits that Capitol people have worn to our District.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" Tia comments as soon as it's done, making her way towards the glass Reaping bowl, full of carefully folded pink slips, "Let's start off with the girls…Rarity Leveque!"

A blonde haired girl from the fourteen year old section steps forward, wearing an exquisite blue dress that is as dazzling as her confident smile. But unfortunately for her, the girl in the red dress from earlier shrieks out that she Volunteers, starting the annual rampage of girls towards the stage. Shockingly, I find that Katrie is among them; her cousin, Emerald, is glaring daggers at her bag, probably having pressured her into doing it. That doesn't stop the first girl though, who knocks everyone out of her way, and because she's wearing flats, it does give her the slight advantage. By the time that she's made her way to the stage, several Peacekeepers are escorting girls away from medical treatment; one of them has a nasty black eye that's already begun to form.

"And what is your name, darling?" Tia asks, smiling widely at the pretty haired brunette.

"Prodigy Mallord," she responds, smirking out into the crowd, as if she had already won the Hunger Games.

"Excellent," the Escort states, obviously pleased with her first Tribute, before making her way over to the adjacent Reaping bowl, "And for the young man, who will receive the honor of representing District One in the One Hundred and Seventy Sixth Hunger Games…Ribbon Layfeyette!"

_Instantly, I knew that this would be my chance. Shoving my way through Ribbon's mental walls, I could almost taste the shock and panic that rolled off of him. Excellent! He won't be fighting back for a while, allowing me to take control for a good couple of hours. Besides, I'd be able to get more sponsors than he could, so it didn't matter at all. Smirking slightly, I took my first step since I'd been locked out after training, since that little baby couldn't handle the thought of killing a fly. Almost prancing towards the stage, Tia raises an eyebrow at me, probably wondering why my actions changed so drastically. Oh well, no one Volunteered, so lucky me! I get to go into the Hunger Games! And who knows, perhaps Lorelai will finally go out with me once I come back…Ribbon shouldn't have a problem with it though, and if he does, it's too late now!_

_ "Shake hands," Tia states, "Here are your District One Tributes: Prodigy Mallord and Ribbon Layfeyette!"_

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**Hopefully, everyone understood that **_words like this _**was Z talking, not Ribbon who **talks like this. **Anyways, this is the much awaited District 1 Reaping, and this time around, we'll be seeing the Reapings for each of the Districts. Followed up by one chapter or so of Goodbyes, and then we'll commence with our normal programing. Voting is optional on the Reaping chapters, as you only really get to see two Tributes, but will become required later on. I'll have more on that later. Updates for Sunken Hopes will be twice a week, as I'm quite busy at my new school, which is understandable as most of my classes are for people older than I am. Hopefully, all of you had a great week and enjoyed this chapter. **

**Also, I have creative license when it comes to writing these Tributes. To my friends who helped, I do hope that you like it so far. And my final hope is that my inbox will be filled with reviews when I come home from marching band practice! Pretty please with a cherry on top?  
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	3. District Two Reaping

**So here's the District Two Reaping! I would put in a warning for this chapter for more mature things, nothing explicit, but as this is the Hunger Games, I don't feel the need to do so. As always, vote for your favorite four Tributes! I'll put the form up at the top, that way you can start thinking about it. Updates, as I mentioned before, will be every three-four days. This story may take longer than the 175th at that rate, but I promise that I will try and keep things lively. Remember, the form doesn't affect who wins the 176th- I've already picked that- but it helps me see which characters didn't get a chance to shine, which will help me as an author. Hopefully my inbox will be filled with reviews soon! Once again, I'm taking creative license on the characters this time, which I really didn't in the 175th. Without further ado, enjoy the Reapings, live from the masonry District! **

**20:  
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_Scipio Masca (16), District Two Male-POV_

Listening to the pitter-patter of the rain, hours and hours must have been passing since I'd been awoken. None of it fazed me in the very slightest, leaving me to wallow in self doubt and self pity, to hide behind the carefully constructed mask that I'd formed years ago. Before Gladys Stanwyck had made her way into my life, uprooting each and everything that I held near and dear. Practically a tornado had gone through, ripping everything away until nothing at all remained, allowing the vultures to swoop in and pick away at any little bits left on the bones; Gladys could be thought of that way too. All that awful woman had on her mine was money and power; if there was an opportunity to become one step closer to the Capitol, then she would have taken it without paying attention to the consequences. But as life had had it, nothing ever did seem to happen to her, no matter how grave things got; no one knows that she murdered my father.

Glancing quickly across the room, the room that Gladys forces me to share with Corvus, my twin brother, I spot two sleeping forms. Dark hair messed up slightly, Catalina Fox is held tightly against the bare-chested form of Corvus; thankfully, neither of them is in the nude. Gothic garb, more fitting for a costume party than sleepwear, is practically the only thing that either of them ever does chose to wear. Of course, the dark lace only pops out more against Catalina's skin, virtually flawless, with the exception of scars running up and down her arm. While I had started acting out in school when Dad died, Corvus had joined Catalina's little community, becoming a fully fledged Goth; it never really did make sense to me why they did it. The rest of District Two had been confused by it as well, since Gladys managed to frame Catalina's father, Cassius Fox, for the murder of our father. The two of them had been dating for a while, since Catalina hadn't been bothered in the slightest that her father had been convicted, and consequently, executed; they probably had a falling out or two.

As Corvus is my identical twin, I couldn't help but wonder if my brown hair looked as ruffled up as his did right now. Shoving those thoughts out of my mind, berating myself for being weak and sentimental, like I always was, I quickly stood up. Today was the Reaping; if I couldn't slam some confidence into myself by then, I'll have a repeat of last year, and I'll be able to say goodbye to winning the Hunger Games. Another underdog would become the inevitable winner, shaming District Two again, and causing Gladys to take out her anger by screaming; it wasn't any secret to me that she didn't want to be left with the responsibility of raising Corvus and I. In fact, this must have been the first time that Gladys had been home in a fortnight; she hadn't even raised an eyebrow when Catalina spent the night in our room. Probably because she thought that Catalina was doing the same exact thing that she had been doing all of those years, by using her curvy figure to get just about each and every thing that she wanted in life. But opposed to the pale golden locks of Gladys, Catalina had hers died a dark brown, nearly black, after claiming that it didn't suit her personality at all; the two of us got along rather well.

No, I shouldn't be saying things like that; I shouldn't be forming attachments. It's just going to get me killed in the arena, as I'm going to be entering the Hunger Games today…as soon as I summon up the courage to do so. A shower will do it, as the scorching hotness of it ought to slap some sense into me; it's basic knowledge, which I had been too stupid to think about. Sweeping out of the room, I don't notice the onyx eyes of Catalina being rimmed with tears, and if I had, I doubt that I would have cared at all; I really don't have time for emotions anymore, as a warrior needs to be concentrated on fighting and surviving. Weaknesses shouldn't be incorporated into my schedule; that much had been clear from the very start. All it would do is cause me to die a pitiful death, something that would not only shame District Two, but eliminate what little self worth that I had managed to build up. That itself had been a long and agony filled process, which no sane person would ever want to repeat; not even my Gothic buddies the next room over would have wanted that. Oak paneling covered the floors, freshly polished by one of Gladys male friends, which always seem to come over to do chores and vanish about a month later; the same exact thing had happened to my father. In fact, I wouldn't have been so surprised if Gladys had paid the driver that crashed into my mother, the one that ripped her out of my life in one clean shot. Still, I would drop by the hospital to see her every now and then, knowing that the money would run out eventually, forcing us to pull the plug on my comatose mother.

I pause for a moment, listening for the obnoxious snores of Gladys coming out of her room. Just like each day, there's a chance that she bailed out on us during the night, having heard that some official from the Capitol had came into District Two. Probably the reason that she moved here from District One- training to become a Peacekeeper had been a total lie. All she wanted to do was thrive off of the wealth that my father had acquired, the money that would rightfully belong to Corvus and I; Catalina as well, from the way that their relationship appears to be progressing. Clenching my fist, thoughts of ramming it into a wall crossed through my mind, yet the enticing idea of the steamy shower drove it all away; the latter is one of the more relaxing things that I allow myself to experience. And as the whore isn't around, there shouldn't be anyone to object to me using up all of the hot water on myself; Corvus liked his showers cold, quote, _"to remind me that the things on this plane are as meaningless as the rusher of water. In the end, everything will turn to dust." _In my opinion, I believe that he's the one that needs to go to counseling, not me; I'm perfectly fine, nothing wrong at all, end of story.

About five minutes later, I find myself standing under the hot spray, the bottle of shampoo in my hands. On very rare occasions black outs happen to me, causing all knowledge of what I had been doing to vanish; it's a technique that I picked up to make detentions at school bearable. Just about each day of the week, people will find me sitting in the same desk, with crass sayings scratched in bold layers on it; a couple of them had been my own doing. Dark thunder clouds always seemed to be booming there, constantly providing something for all of us to listen to; we must have had the worst weather in Panem in this part of District Two. Of course, by living on the South Side, which was mercifully close to the Justice Building, probably only about fifteen minutes away by walking, people tended to be rather rich or rather poor. In my case, I'd gone from belonging to the former class to the latter, even if a huge stack of bills sat walled up near the beer case…

Grinning to myself, I rush through the shower, not even bothered to wallow in the simple sensation of being cleansed. After drying off, the crumbled pile on the floor must have been my Reaping outfit, courtesy of the Wicked Witch herself. Probably just wanted me to Volunteer to establish a firm connection to the Capitol; there's no way I'll let her piggyback off of my success without badmouthing her in front of all of Panem. Smirking a bit, the brief pause is followed by cursing, knowing that my window of opportunity to do this is rapidly shrinking. Throwing on the clothes haphazardly, I practically sprint out of the bathroom, my wet black locks curling up ever so slightly but I don't care; I finally know what's going to whip some courage into me before trying to enter the Hunger Games. People in District Two always are going on about how men drink beer, so raiding the cabinet that Gladys keeps just for herself seems like a perfectly fine idea. Upon wrenching open the door, a faded number in the very back seems like it'll be the perfect dose of liquid courage, and I do know that I'm not exactly a beer expert.

Opening up the cork on the bottle of moonshine, I tip back my head and start to guzzle it all down; this had better work…

* * *

_Avalon Argo (17), District Two Female-POV_

Marching out of my house, wearing the same Reaping outfit that I always wore, an innocent smile is plastered on my face. Just this morning, when all of the Victors had been sleeping, I'd managed to raid them, stealing a good deal of items from right under their arrogant noses. In fact, Runa Young's sapphire choker remained around my neck right now, adding a little pop to my outfit; it would have been all too funny if she actually realized that it belonged to her. Doubt that will happen though, as I've stolen from Victors countless times before, and not a single one of them had every cared; they were too busy screaming from their nightmares. But it wasn't like I needed any of the stuff, as my family had a lot of wealth; some great-great-great-grandmother of mine had won the Hunger Games. Living, well not anymore, proof that the Argo family is destined for fame and fortune, not being placed on the same playing field of the rest of the pathetic District Two citizens.

Catching a glimpse of platinum blonde hair, the crystal blue eyes of Khione Starr meet mine ever so slightly. As if making sure that no one is around, the best friend of mine tosses something quickly, before running forward at a slight job to meet Jason, her hunky yet arrogant older brother. Sometimes, I enjoy being in his company, but at other times, the only thing that I have on my mind is tying his hands behind his back; the two of us have a complicated friendship, probably driven by how insistent Jason is at showing off. Reaching out just in time, the tiny object that Khione lobbed at me lands in my hands, not even breaking off in the slightest; the two of us had been training partners since we were ten years old. This year, I'd be the one Volunteering, with Khione going next year; several pairs of friends in District Two had arrangements like that. Of course, more often than not, neither of them did end up going into the Hunger Games, but I've planned to be the exception.

A chain necklace, with a crystal dagger, is the object that I find in my hands. It had been the very first thing that Khione and I had stolen together, a meeting that remains as clear as day in my mind, and branded us two kleptomaniacs together. They probably won't let me wear this in the Hunger Games, but I intend to prove that the gem is completely harmless; I'm good at masking pain, so they won't react when I press it against the fabric of my halter top. Sure, a tiny hole would form in the turquoise fabric, but it'll be out of the cameras sight, so I won't have to worry about any bad press for it. After all, they do provide clothing to change into on the train, another reason that I won't have to worry; everything is falling into place, all too perfectly.

"Hey, beautiful," a boy with long dark hair calls out, falling into step with me, "Come here often?"

It takes all of my physical restrain to not grin wickedly; this is one of the prime opportunities to steal whatever precious object that's one him. Just about each person here has one, in case that they somehow enter the Hunger Games, though only two of them do each year; I'm going to be one of the two this time. Tossing my blonde hair over my shoulder, I school my features into the one's that resembles shock and surprise, with a delicate blush gracing my tan cheeks; it's almost too easy to fake people out these days. And really, it's not all too surprising that he chose to flirt with me, Draco, I'm going to call him, as my skinny jeans hug my lean figure. Not to mention my jade green eyes; eyes that have been known to lie without blinking or batting an eyelash. Draco slides a pale hand around my waist, dragging my slender form closer to his; he's making this all too easy for me.

"Oh, I suppose so…," I say, forcing a slight shake into my voice to sound like nervousness, or on the flipside, pleasure, "Not every day that a plucky girl like me gets to put her name in the Reaping bowl."

Draco's intense blue eyes greedily go over my form, which brings out feelings of disgust in me. I know his type- Upper class of the South Side, vain, and pretty. He's going to think that I'll do just about everything that he wants me too, something odd, as I live on the South Side; though, I am a bit closer to Victors Village than most people. Close enough that the sounds of construction, as they've run out of houses for our Victors, drive me insane each time that I'm trying to sleep. That's part of the reason that I so frequently rob them, as a little punishment for causing me to lose those precious hours; my parents can tell you that I'm a monster in the morning. And quite frankly, I'm more of a monster when I'm training, but that is the time that I'm encouraged to behave that way. Feeling a subtle slap on my butt, I have to bite back the vicious remarks about going off to find some other girl to fondle. All I need to do is keep up the blushing school girl act, to make him think that I'm going to be the one that could be forced into things; a quick glance over my shoulder reveals an impatient Capitol official waiting for me or Draco to check in at the DNA confirmation stand.

"You know, plucky girls just happen to be my type…See you around after the Reaping? We could go to my place, if you know what I mean…"

Spying an exquisite ring on his finger, the moment that I know that I've found my prize is always the very best one. Adding in something in reply to him, which even I don't care to take much attention to, I grab his hand with my left. Placing my right on his cheek, as if marveling at his chiseled features, the swipe takes less than a minute. I would know, as I had been counting it, waving slightly in goodbye, I melt away from him and step into line. Resting in the pockets of my skinny jeans, which had been rather hard to find at the large mall down on the East Side, lay a beautiful ruby red ring; it would be a wonderful item to add to my rather extensive collection. Sweeping my eyes over the Capitol lady, who pokes my finger lightly with the needle, there doesn't seem to be anything valuable on her, so I don't waste my time thinking.

"Hey!" an angry voice cries out, drawing my attention towards him, "You stole my ring, thief! Give it back!"

"Oh, did I?" I comment sarcastically, batting my eyes at him, "I didn't even know you had a ring."

Well, Draco certainly doesn't have one anymore. Turning around once again, I strut my way across the aisle, standing on the very outskirts of the seventeen year old section; Khione stands a couple feet behind me with the other sixteen year olds. From the way that her face is creasing into a smile often, and her hangs moving around carelessly, I can tell that she's stealing from the other girls; a tactic that's branded her as an outcast, with the exception of some certain people. Oh, not like it really involves me anyways, as Khione is free to steal and wink at anyone that she chooses to; there really isn't any place for me to put my two cents in. Glancing across the crowd, the seething gray eyes of Mariah Ross greet my jade green ones, along with the hazel ones of Theta Pond; those two are obviously going to try and Volunteer this year. A couple other of them stick out to me, including a squealing group of brunettes, but with the I.Q. scores as low as theirs, I doubt that I'll have anything to worry about; this is going to be a piece of cake.

"Welcome, welcome," the booming voice of Thunder Arbotchey, the District Two Escort, fills the large area, "to the Reaping for the One Hundred and Seventy Sixth annual Hunger Games! Two brave people are going to leave today, not as individuals, but as the representatives for District Two. After watching a short film, showing the reasons for such courage and sacrifice to be necessary in our wondrous country, we will be seeing who has what it takes. We will see who will truly have the odds in their favor…."

A brutal, yet required video is displayed behind Thunder, our Victors, and the Mayor of District Two. It isn't really needed here in District Two, as we're the most military like place in Panem, so punishments are whipped out each day. Logically, that leads to rather obedient citizens, along with a plethora of people wishing that they could have the immense honor of participating in a particularly pageant one day; most of them won't receive it, with half of the one's that do dying painfully. Believe it or not, we don't always win the Hunger Games, and lately, our track record has been rather poor. Runa, the Victor that I stole from, had been the last one to return home to District Two- that's roughly seven years ago to date. If I don't come home a Victor, which I don't doubt at all that I will, future Tributes from District Two will end up being the laughing stock of the Career Pack; District Thirteen, the babies of the group, might even advance ahead of us in rank.

"With those words in mind," Thunder says, referring to the narration on the video, "it is time to choose the female Tribute from District Two. This person will need courage, bravery, determination, and honor to be able to achieve their task. I assure you, that each and every one of you could be that very person, and so, it is time…the female Tribute from District Two is-"

"I Volunteer!" Theta Pond bellows out, breaking through the thin tape that keeps everyone inside of her pens; the fourteen year old would never last in the arena.

"No, I Volunteer!" I scream, jumping forward before any of the eighteen year olds could get the wrong idea into their heads; unfortunately, Theta and Mariah are hot on my trail.

Thankfully, I've gotten a head start on the two of them, as the seventeen year olds are placed second closest to the stage. It probably helped a lot, even if I'm quicker than the other people who train for the Hunger Games here. Smiling slightly, I throw my hands down on the wooden stage and throw myself up, not caring that I heard a small rip come from my skinny jeans; sponsors would just think it's part of the 'deadly and sexy' approach that Career Tributes use so often. Scrambling to my feet, Theta has just approached the stage when I smile mischievously down at her, knowing that there's no way I'll relinquish my claim to fame to her. Besides, that girl has other years that she can Volunteer for the Games; according to the pact I made, this will be my last one. It'll be my last one anyways, as Thunder gives me an approving look before moving towards the boys Reaping bowl.

"And the fine young man who shall accompany Miss-"

"Avalon Argo," I interject, realizing that Thunder had forgotten to ask me my name.

"-Argo will be…Scipio Masca!"

Someone drunk announces that he wants to go into the Hunger Games, before wobbling towards the stage. No one else Volunteers, instead of pushing the boy towards us; Khione mouths something that I find rather funny. That just happens to be Scipio- he Volunteered for himself. Letting a few chuckles escape, my enjoyment increases when he finally makes it to the stage, collapsing on top of Thunder's strong form. A couple moments later, he vomits on top of him with the entire country of Panem watching.

He'll be dead, but at least this served as some mild entertainment. I didn't have to go to District Twelve to get it either…How thoughtful of him.


	4. District Three Reaping

_Emiliana Vincere (16), District Three Female-POV_

If you had a secret to hide, incredibly dangerous and life threatening, it would impact your choices on where to live. Panem wouldn't be one of them, or even near to the top ten on the list; common sense determined that it would be that way. Being hidden meant that, well, people wouldn't be walking down the street with their poodle and be able to see exactly where you are. It wasn't like this would be news to anyone, as the print of the invisible newspaper it had been typed on would have surely worn out by now; the Capitol understood that as well. The very reason that they forced us to all live out in the open, to come to a public Reaping each year, so they could correctly observe us all; ingenious yet simple. But of course, Papa didn't take that into account when starting his own family, and as of such, continuing the Vincere mafia.

Straightening up against the limestone bricks, the rapidly degrading state of my house always seemed to catch my attention, but believe it or not, there aren't many smiths available on call in District Three. Papa's connections all across Panem couldn't have changed the condition as quickly as they were able to do anything else; instead, the money went towards hiring the guards. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a burly local watching my every move, and yet maintaining a purely casual appearance; nothing I do anymore is unseen, ever since Gran Mama pointed out how much more involved I had become in the family business. Of course, her intention had been to pull me out of it, to free me before its grip settled upon my soul; at least, that had been what she said at the moment.

"Figlia!" a familiar voice beckoned, probably coming out from a window, "Vai dentro. E 'troppo freddo oggi."

Another thing came across my mine, pulling out the wry smile that Isis, my best friend, claimed meant that I'm up to no good. Well, if that is true like she says it is, you can't possibly blame me; it isn't my fault at all that I'm stuck with a bunch of criminals. And as Papa as contacts all across Panem, I'll never be able to live a normal life without being recognized as a Vincere; I've been told too often that I'm a carbon copy of Mamma. Pushing away a strand of caramel hair, my pondering mind returns to the fact that my mother has chosen to scream Italian in broad daylight, which no doubt would draw suspicion from a couple of the onlookers; Nimmo Finaca, along with his harem, actually stop to stare with stupid grins. They all want to see the Vincere girl, the one who doesn't quite fit in, and discover just what makes me tick. Well, let them, though if Papa finds out, I daresay they won't be around too much longer; that's life.

"Ma la mamma, la mietitura inizierà presto!" I countered, huffing slightly when Data Jewels, a particularly preppy girl, starts mimicking the language; she sounds more like an alien from outer space.

"Ora! Sii veloce! Gran Mama si richiede!" Mamma commanded before slamming the shutters closed.

Sighing slightly, I don't give the idiotic kids across the street another thought until the guard comes back into view. He wears a particularly wide smirk, probably forced as to not look as if he's working for my father, well, working for us; teenagers in District Three come to us for part time jobs every now and then. Huffing slightly, it's only when Data starts squealing about seeing more of the 'Vinclear crazies' do I decide to do something about her. With that dark brown hair and bewitching green eyes, it's not surprising that she had been added the the collection that Nimmo walks around with day and night; at one point, he'd even invited me to join them. The very next day, he'd come to school with a swollen black eye and blamed it on his sister, mentioning something about her ugliness causing him to trip; I'd pitied the deceased girl ever since that day. Nimmo hadn't even cared the very day that she died, and Isis reported to me all about how the Finaca family had been having troubles ever since- not that it surprised me in the very slightest.

"You want something to laugh at?!" I shout, catching the attention of the arrogant boy and the ditzy girls, "I'll give you something to laugh at!"

Reaching into my back pocket, a box filled with tiny white packages was revealed. Papa had gotten them for me on his last mission, calling them, I believe, works of fire! No, no…it must have been fireworks; I would have thought that I'd remember a title like that when the time came. According to Papa, these were nifty for pulling little pranks, which he encouraged as long as one of the many guards accompanied me; it practically ruined the entire purpose in my mind, so I hadn't chosen to do any of those particular deeds as of late. But now, one of them indeed was watching me, probably calculating my very next move; could he possibly know what I was about to do? Ripping the package open, in which 'Snaps!' had been written in bright yellow writing, the lack of mumbling coming from across the road didn't bother me in the very slightest; they'd be shrieking in just a couple moments.

Holding the little white items, which resembled Hershey's Kisses (a chocolate that Papa sometimes brought home, claiming that our ancestors would feast upon them), part of me doubted that this would actually be able to work. Yet I knew that it would, as anyone that lied to Papa would meet a gruesome end; the maker of these, last I heard, was living pleasantly in the slums of District Five. Though a niggling suspicion that these would turn out to be a joke continued to plague me, even as I let the little white droplets fly, and listened to the crisp _crack _that sounded open them connecting with the ground, almost dangerously close to the ballet flat clad feet of the girls and Nimmo. All of them shrieked as if in unison, their wide eyes darting around wildly.

"Witch!" one of them jeered, somehow managing to scowl while screaming her head off.

"I knew those Vinclear's were, like, wacko! Let's go, like, now Nimmo!" Data requested, pouting while she pressed herself against the marble shop wall.

For some reason, our ancestors who arrived in District Three decided that the middle of town would be the perfect place to live. Knowing their love of food, it was probably so they wouldn't have to walk to the bakery as much, though I couldn't be too sure about that; I wasn't alive at the time. Flashing a smile towards the guard, who appeared to be torn between scolding me and laughing at the plight of the kids across the street, he evidently resorted to the latter; Papa's probably going to fire him for that though, I reflected sadly. Oh well, someone else could give him a job, and the employees tend to not last very long, unless they're Vincere family; some of them probably want to wed me, that way they won't have to worry about losing their source of food.

"Molto bene!" I cheered, giving a slight bow before going back inside the house; Emiliana: one, Nimmo and the girls: zero.

The door closes behind me, muffling the sounds of shrieking and cussing from the street. Dark halls, lined with candles and portraits are all around, casting shadows left and right. A quiet tapping sound if present, probably from Papa or Mamma messaging one of their contacts; if it's the latter, I truly do pity them, as Mamma is in charge of eliminating all threats. Most of the time, she's rather effective in her job, yet like the Careers in the Hunger Games, Mama does tend to enjoy it most of the time. A crude portrait of Gran Mama hangs on the wall, staring down at me as if with scorn; peculiarly, I'm reminded of the looks Nimmo's little gang had been giving me outside. Instantly, my hand flies up to the scar on the forehead; the event that gave it to me had been the reason that Gran Mama hadn't wanted me to continue in this business.

But as the Vincere family code, there wouldn't be anything that would allow me to escape this. When they learned of my near-death experience, in which I learned what it truly meant to die and come back to life, Papa hadn't been all too pleased. Mamma had scolded me for not following instructions to a key, even though each of us knew that it wasn't so. Merely, the entire reason behind it is simple; I'm an only child and someone is going to have to lead the Vincere mafia when Papa is gone. According to them, that person is going to be me…

_Mika Lizt (13), District Three Male-POV_

Constantly, the sound of the soft ticking clock plagues me, forcing my thought towards the direction of the Reaping. Plastering on a fake smile, to try and focus on the positive facts of life, methods of escape and plans for what I could do if I had been picked runs through my brain. There wasn't any time for me to think about it though, as I'd promised Bollo that I'd run the shop for her; any minute, someone would rush in here with a pre-Reaping disaster. A jacket torn in half, a dress with juice spilled all over the front, or something that desperately needed alteration; just about all of those would happen before the clock finally struck noon.

"Oh my gosh, you've just, like, got to help me!" a girl squealed, drawing my attention up from the piece of arithmetic homework I'd been working on.

Well, it wasn't really arithmetic, as there wasn't anything mathematical about rabbits with machine guns. Doesn't really matter to me though, as I just try to enjoy life; I just try to forget all of the horrors that had befallen me. The sympathetic glances that follow me around the District, pitying me from a distance, had long since grown tiresome. Everyone knew that my parents had been thieves, idiotic ones according to the town's gossip mill, who had gotten into more than they could have possibly handled. Funny thing is, not a single image in my mind remains of them; Bollo's the person I think of when they talk about family at school.

The girl lets out an irritated sound, something guttural probably, but it's enough to make me drop the lead pencil that I had been holding. Yellow strikes down against a weary and tired oak desk, bouncing up and down as I scramble to catch it. Fumbling with it, all I manage to do is drop it; it rolls onto the dusty hardwood floor as the girl eyes me distastefully. I smile nervously up at her, hoping that I hadn't ruined Bollo's business because of this; there wasn't a mean bone in my entire body, so doing any harm at all would keep me up all night until I figured out a way to fix it. But from the way the brunette narrowed her eyes, I doubt that there's anything that I could have done; clearly, this may end up being a dead cause.

"I said," the girl repeats slowly, as if I'm not able to understand her, "that you, like, need to help me. There's, like, no way that I'll be, like, you know, mangled looking at the Reaping…You, like, here me?"

"Heard you the first time," I said, smiling sheepishly, "Ms….Well, Bolo is out running errands. I'm running the shop for now."

"Oh…when will she be back?" the brunette said snobbishly, staring down at her manicured nails as if they're the most fascinating thing in the world.

Already, I can tell exactly what she's thinking, one of my few talents. _If this kid is in charge of the shop, Bollo must have been short on help. Doubt that he's good enough…_I sighed slightly, wishing that the girl would just tell me what she needed mended so that she would leave; I've never been good with company. Even with Bollo, the one person that I felt close to, the way that I had felt with Netalia. We'd been dating, but having a reputation of the District Three weirdo doesn't exactly help keep a relationship blossoming; in the end, Netalia dumped me for being too much work. Clearly, I remember that day, when the sun shined like all would be well; her brother, Web, had cast me a sympathetic look before leaving. It always made me mad when people acted like that, as I could so clearly tell that they weren't sorry for me; they were sorry that I didn't turn out the same way as then. That I would barely speak to any of them, and if I did speak, like now, the words usually felt forced and required; Bollo's shop couldn't survive if I didn't make myself communicate.

Opening my mouth to answer, the tinkling bell of the shop door draws my attention. Clothes are all around, hanging off of shelves and racks, with pins and needles covering each available surface. Only one spot, off in the dusty right corner, remains untouched by the disaster. Bollo kept it there, since she knew that the clocks had a way of calming me, a way of getting me to open up to her, if only it was a little bit; it felt awkward that she would do things like that for me. She'd bathe me, feed me, and give me a place to sleep at night if I asked her, probably even adopt me if I felt the inclination to do so, but I didn't. Owing people is a horrible feeling to have, so each piece of food that I put down my throat I try to earn in some way, through a variety of small jobs; big tasks weren't my favorite, as I tended to hate putting time into things.

"Actually, I'm back right now," the newcomer stated, tucking a loose strand of gray hair back into her bun, with a yellow tape measure hanging loose around her neck, "What can I do for you, Ms. Jewels?"

The name rings a tingling bell in my head, akin to the shop one, as I remember that the girl's name was Data. She'd been enemies with Netalia, so I don't feel all too bad about leaving the shop early; according to the grandfather clock that stood in the corner, the Reaping would be starting soon. Having no street smarts at all, it would be best if I left to go right now, even if the place was only around the block. Glancing through the window, on which '_Bollo's thread and needle- clothes repair' _was inscribed in looping cursive letters, a lot of the children had begun to poor out into the streets. Judging from the weary eyes of some of them, they had to begin their journey to the Justice Building yesterday, as they lived on the outskirts; in District Three, that area was known as the Brackets. Most of the areas in our District played off of arithmetic, so some kids from the Brackets liked to call town the Variables. Corny, but most people would rather think of that than the possibility that it could be their very last day in District Three.

Pushing the door open, I vaguely hear the girl complaining about scorch marks, and Bollo telling her that there wasn't anything that she could do. Part of the guilt comes off of my chest, knowing that there wasn't any way that Data would have been able to pay Bollo at all; there wasn't any reason that I should feel bad about the minor screw up. Smiling a bit, I join the crowd of kids drifting towards the Reaping, blending in with the taller ones and dwarfing some of the fifteen year olds; five feet and seven inches, yet I doubt that I'm going to stop at that number. Quickly, I smooth down my messy black hair after they've stuck the tiny needle in my pinky finger, tearing open the flesh slightly for yet another year. It puzzled me a bit, as I knew that they liked to keep the Tributes in top condition, yet they harmed them right before the Reaping. Too weird and crazy for my thirteen year old brain to comprehend, so I tried to remain docile.

Eventually, Morginth Trin, the District Three Escort, finally stepped onto the stage and launched into his prepared speech. Morginth didn't look anything like he did last year, with a couple gray streaks running through his hair; I had a feeling that he wouldn't be coming back as an Escort next year. Some new person would be entertaining the District Three pair. Someone, hopefully, who thought that orange and blue, clashed together as much as they really did; he clearly didn't share that view, and obviously didn't mind the idea of cross dressing at all from the mini skirt he wore. Though I didn't have to see it for long, as I shut my eyes during the video, not wanting to watch all of the violence; too many people had been hurt by the Capitol, but at this rate, I doubted that it would ever end.

"For the ladies, we'll have…Netalia Nex!" Morginth called out, glancing off into the thirteen year old section.

I didn't know how to react; I felt numb and awkward. This must have been the way Einstein felt, when he discovered that his daughter, Lieserl, had died from scarlet fever. All I could do it watch, mumbling things under my breath; everyone around me took a step away, fearing that I would lash out. Though this had never happened to me before, it was something that they had learned to expect from madness; Viper Elias, our most recent Victor, had finally been cured of whatever mental disorder she'd gained in the arena. Still, the vicious looks that she sent out into the crowd, filled with hatred in scorn, were enough to make most of the people in the District feel otherwise.

"I Volunteer!" a girl with honey blonde hair called out, "My name is Emiliana Vincere and I Volunteer!"

Netalia let out a sigh of relief, her soft brown eyes shining with relief. Small tears come out of the corner of her eyes, as she stares gratefully towards Emiliana. The girl's making her way towards the stage, leaving astonished whispers and murmurs in her wake. Data, the rude girl that visited Bollo's shop, grins triumphantly at her; it almost feels like a repeat of last year's Reaping. The year that Malaya Finaca Volunteered for the Hunger Games, and from what we could tell, it had been for no reason at all. Quite honestly, I'd been among the one's silently cheering her on, hoping that she would be able to win it. In a moment, someone just like Jitz would be Reaped, a tiny voice told me; it would be someone broken beyond repair.

"And for the fine young man…Mika Lizt!"

Instantly, my face goes as white as a sheet. This couldn't have been happening to me; it just couldn't be. Shifting around, a wall made out of people, angry and loathing, blocks every route of escape that I could have taken. Eyes stare towards me, condemning me to this fate, the fate that they would pretend to be sorry that I had received. But they weren't truly sorry; everyone just cared about themselves. That's what the Hunger Games were all about, right? Being the last one standing is the goal of it, and remember the girl from District Ten, the way she talked during her interview, it reminded me of something important. The only way to win this is to treat it the way it really is; to treat it like…

A game.

* * *

**Italian translations (in order of occurrence): **

**"Daughter! Go inside. It's too cold today." **

**"But Mother, the Reaping will start soon!"**

**"Now! Be quick! Grand Mama requires you!"  
**

**"Very good!"  
**

Here's the District Three Reapings. Sorry that these are a day late, but things were a bit hectic. All I have is French homework this weekend though, so I'll be able to have District Four up on Monday! Please do not vote for your own Tributes, as I don't count those points...Some of you will hate me for bringing Nimmo Finaca back but I just couldn't help myself...Au revoir!

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	5. District Four Reaping

_Sapphire Riddle (15), District Four Female-POV_

"_Once I found a stowaway,_

_Upon my ship on Christmas Day,_

_I was fair, so I gave him a chance,"_

The upbeat music echoed around the room, desperately trying to give it signs of life that hadn't been present as of yet. Dust motes hung in the air, wandering around as if they owned the place, and they couldn't care less what happened to them. Waving my hand through the air, they fell out of order, clinging to my skin, and then sinking to the ground upon falling off. Though the light didn't care to illuminate them, I couldn't help but notice that they were there; everything had become precious to me since that day. Especially my beloved speakers, faithfully piping out the curious Christmas song one of the students at my school had been muttering under his breath in the hallways; it had taken a little while, but I soon had the familiar tune booming around my room.

Bells had become something that I cherished too, trying to let the painful memories die out. None of the other siblings of past Career Tributes had reacted this way, which I'm certain of; none of them had appeared deterred in the slightest to train harder and harder. Glancing down at the crumbled photos, each of them a different pose of the hated blonde girl, a smirk made its way up onto my lips. Revenge would be obtained, but only if I would be able to let Nic go; that may very well be the hardest part of this. By shutting out the world, no one proceeded to nag at me about it, believe that as a child, I would carry out their tasks like a mindless robot. Certainly, anyone who truly knew who I, Sapphire Riddle, daughter of Nept Riddle, Victor of District Four, was then they wouldn't have dared to attempt in the very first place.

"'_You shouldn't be here,_

_What's your tale?_

_I ought to throw you to the whale.'_

_He smiled and said,_

'_Come here, let's dance.'"_

Humming the melody under my breath, the last year came to my mind. Particularly, starting off with the Victory Tour; turning my heel, a hole ripped through one of the several photos littering the ground. The subtle noise doesn't cover up the beautiful melody, the bass harmony sounding like an angelic choir; it's one of the happier songs that I've been listening to lately. Briefly, I considered listening to, "My Angel Put the Devil in Me," but the flicker of pain reminds me not to; it had been the song I listened to a year ago today. There's no way that I want to relive that, to remember exactly how it had felt to think that my brother would return with glory and honor, yet instead have him ripped away from me, painfully and brutally. This must have been how children in the other Districts felt, though I didn't care in the very slightest; that part of me hadn't changed since Nic's death.

Tossing the ginger curls back, which my mother had dejectedly labored over earlier this morning, perfecting met me as I stared into the mirror. A year ago, most people would have described me as a little runt, but with a couple extra inches added on, most of the boys kept on chasing after me. Especially that infuriated, annoying, and exasperating Issak Herring. Though he does claim that all he wants to do is be friends, one thing that I learned was to not trust anyone; Nic trusted the Careers and they tossed him into a death trap. So despite the fact that Issak had been Nic's best friend, there isn't a shred of evidence that can tell me a solid reason to trust the bloke; withdrawing into my music had only helped me hold onto that belief.

"_He said, 'Borrow or steal,_

_I'll find a way,_

_To be with my lover upon Christmas Day,_

_And I'll run and I'll roam,_

_I'll cover the ground,_

_This Christmas I'll see you,_

_I'll be around.'"_

On a hanger, pristine and freshly ironed, hung the dress that I would be wearing in front of Panem today. The dress that people would envision when they thought of Sapphire Riddle, the very next Tribute for District Four; not some tacky mourner's garb, the likes that Mom had been pushing towards me. She really hadn't been the same since Nic's death, though as always, she didn't try and stop me from training for the Hunger Games. Dad kept on pushing me, until it felt like my bones would break, but he had no idea of what I had planned to do now. In fact, the very thing had been forbidden mere moments after my brother had died, a choice that Dad thought would preserve the Riddle bloodline; Mom was almost too old to have children now. And from the way her quiet sobs drifted through the house, sounding a thousand times louder than they had before, I doubted that I would ever get another sibling. But that would be fine with me, as their certainly would never be a person alive who could replace Nic; no one would ever be just like him.

Mumbling the words to the song, another attempt to drive the dark thoughts from my head, I stepped towards the hanger. While the majority of the dress was blue, a soft shade that reminded me of ice, dangerous and powerful as it cracked in the ocean; it was an image that the word 'majesty' brings to mind. Along with the feeling of winter chill, which sometimes drifted down to District Four when a La Nina found its way upon our shores; most of the fishermen didn't really have found feelings towards them. Though they were present in ancient times, certainly never were they in the geographical location of our District, yet scientists say that it is because of continental drift, causing Panem to change shape. Frankly, it doesn't concern me in the very slightest; just a bunch of wacky mumbo jumbo. None of it would ever pertain to me, so there isn't any reason that I should ever pay attention to it; all I needed to care about is getting my hands on a trident for my private session with the Gamemakers.

"_He told me 'bout his girl back home,_

_Waiting patient, all alone,_

_While we danced I shed a little tear,_

_He closed his eyes, all out at sea,_

_I think he danced with her not me,_

_I'll just have to wait another year,_

_He said, 'Borrow or steal,_

_I'll find a way,_

_To be with my lover upon Christmas Day,_

_And I'll run and I'll roam,_

_I'll cover the ground,_

_This Christmas I'll see you,_

_I'll be around.'"_

Black swirls were printed on top of the blue, covering up the pristine fabric seamlessly. Various figures and shapes were formed from it, all coming from the imagination of the person looking at it; to the Capitol people, it could have been the blood of the last Tribute. While this may sound gruesome and horrifying to others, those types of thoughts hadn't bothered me for a long time, in fact, I don't think that they ever had. Training for the Hunger Games, to become the lone Victor, just like my father did before me, had been an honor that I simply had to have. A task that would become my dying wish, though the likelihood of that ever happened was simply low.

Ripping off the pajama pants, shirt, and sports bra that I practically lived in, all of the garments soon littered the grown. In some Districts, some of them would have been wearing just that to their Reaping, and appear disgraceful in front of all of Panem; not that it bothered me in the slightest. Predators were bred to have the advantage, to dominate over the prey and make sure that they know their place. Wolves constantly hunted the deer, taking away the sick and the wounded, that way disease wouldn't run rampant, along with over population. That's another thing that the Hunger Games was good for; keeping the people in the rebellious Districts numbered. Yet in the Career Districts, with the exception of Thirteen, they didn't have to worry about that in the slightest. We understood our roles in life, and relatively speaking, we had risen to the top of the food chain because of it. Was it our fault that the outer Districts were too ignorant to understand? Not at all; someone had to get the job done, so it might as well be us. But then again, that doesn't mean that I won't be taking extra pleasure in taking out the District Six Tributes, and during the cover of darkness, the other Careers as well. While that strategy had been used before, it didn't matter to me at all.

"_I think of him now and again,_

_I wonder how his journey ends,_

_As I sail by on my lonesome sea,_

_That stranger with the haunted face,_

_Here then gone without a trace,_

_Lying with his love, that's where he'll be._

Simply put, the Capitol wasn't rather good at aiding people appease their fallen, with only one method to do so: entering the Hunger Games. Entering the Games, knowing that our lives would be lost, to try and extract some tiny amount of pain towards the one's that we do surely detest. My thoughts on the matter? When the system fails us, we must go out and seek our own justice, and make sure not to repeat the mistakes of the past, for the future is much more promising that way. And the only way that my future is going to be promising if I win the Hunger Games; if I finally avenge my brother, allowing Nic to truly rest and peace.

And believe me, nothing is going to be able to stop me; nothing.

"_He said, 'Borrow or steal,_

_I'll find a way,_

_To be with my lover next Christmas Day,_

_And I'll run and I'll roam,_

_I'll cover the ground,_

_Next Christmas I'll see you,_

_I'll be around.'"_

_Caspian Cavaliere (15), District Four Male-POV_

"_This will be a day long remembered. It has seen the end of Kenobi, and will soon see the end of the rebellion."_

Pressing down on the TV remote with a sigh, I watched the flickering screen turn off, knowing that the science fiction channel wouldn't be running for much longer. The District One Reapings are going to be put on again, making it so even recordings won't be accessible; there's no way that I'll be able to find out now. I sit staring ahead towards the blackness, the curtains of the rooms closed shut, as the faint snores of my parents are inaudible. Millions of possibilities fly through my head, managing to make me think again about shutting off the television set; they might have started them late. But then again, I'd learned enough about tyrants to know that it would never happen; they intend to keep us shrouding in fear. When people are acting that way, you'll be able to control them, or so, that's what usually happens in situations like this. Doctor Who, Star Trek, Eureka, Torchwood, the Sarah Jane Adventures, Battlestar Galactica, Star Wars, and the Missing Series had taught me valuable lessons like these over the years; all sci-fi geeks would agree with me on that.

"Caspian?" my mother's voice called out, "Were you actually training for once…? I heard fear."

Pushing up my circular glasses, they instantly slid right back down, proving that I shouldn't have wasted the effort. Oh well, it was the very least I could do to make myself presentable, as I never seemed to say the right things around my parents. Facts and logic couldn't move them in the very slightest; a problem that I think Einstein had run into with his first wife. If he hadn't ever gotten married, than he wouldn't have had that problem in the very first place; plain and simple, yet most people tend to ignore that. I don't know why though, as it's just common sense…

"No. You heard Darth Vader slicing Obi-Wan into bits, while Luke had been forced to watch the death of his teacher. That's what you heard," I state plainly, glancing at the bookshelf, to see where my copy of Shada had gone off to, "You may want to get your hearing checked. It was incredibly obvious what it was, Mother."

Mother scoffs, tucking back her newly dyed blonde curls; I don't quite remember when she got those done. I tend to not pay attention to my parents, well, to anyone as they're bound to betray me at some point. Friends really tend to get in the way, as I've noted after watching several Hunger Games, especially when the District Seven pair were deceived by their ally. Smart girl, though at least she won't have to live with the pains of winning; it's not really such a bad thing to be Reaped. My parents, however, insist on me training whenever they think I'm lying around the house too much. What they don't know is that through obtaining the knowledge of time travelers, aliens, and Jedi knights, to name a few, I am going through much more extensive training than anyone else in the Hunger Games could.

"You do not speak that way to me, young man," Mother admonishes, looking me over sternly, "It isn't my fault that you choose to watch those cartoons all day, while the rest of the kids spend their time training…Why can't you be more like them? I had always dreamed of having a Victor as a son, but clearly, that's not going to be happening, Caspian."

Ignoring her comments, as they reminded me of the shriek of a banshee; it must have sounded like the peaceful harmonies of a siren to my father. Mystifying, that's the only word that I can place on my relationship with my parents, and to this day, it's been hanging from thin pieces of thread. Threads that threaten to snap and break at the slightest noise, plunging the once happy home into silence and darkness. But again, all that I've been learning over the years tells me that this is all right, that's it is just a mere phase which a life threatening disaster will quickly remedy at some point in time. Just about everything gets a happy ending, so nothing suggests that it won't be the same here to me; all I care about it grabbing my book off the shelf before heading to the Reaping. Vaguely, I'm aware that Mother's soft brown eyes are gazing in my direction, with one of them off at an odd angle; she had a training accident when she had been younger.

"Look, the facts are that I won't get Reaped. No one is going to pick me, and someone is going to Volunteer anyways…The Career District statistics almost never change, and I'm honestly quite surprised that you haven't realized that already. It's common sense, plain and simple."

"What am I going to do with you, Caspian?" Mother murmurs, but I'm already taking quick strides towards the bookshelf.

Pulling off the dusty book, in which the Doctor and Romana fight the evil Skagra, a small smile graces my face. After the Reaping is over, I'll be able to delve into this beauty, to feel the fear and triumphant echo off of the individual characters. Douglas Adams and Gareth Roberts must have been geniuses for creating this remarkable little book. It's all too tempting to get a head start on it right now, yet from the sad scowl that graces Mother's cheeks, the message is all too clear. _Get to the Reaping now, Caspian. I'm done trying…_Even if emotions are an incredibly complex thing, which I often don't try figuring out, unless it's in one of the stories, I heed the unspoken words. It's a short walk to the Reaping, as most people in District Four live on their boats, so we're not actually quite large; my family is one of the few exceptions. We're like that in many ways, as the only time that I actually train is the required courses in school, unless you (unlike others) actually recognize the importance and advantages of the stories I read and watch. An entire universe is out there, just begging for us to explore it, and I believe that the same principles that we'll find out there can apply to us right now. There's no reason that it shouldn't be that way.

Just as I had expected, the walk to the Justice Building is short and quick. Non-eligible residents of the District would be let in later than everyone else, so they can check in the kids as quickly as they possibly could. The Capitol demands a strict schedule on us all, meaning that if we're so much as a minute late, they'll be a new mayor in town by Tuesday; not the first time that it would have happened either. In fact, the current mayor is shaking in his boots a little bit, probably because I'm in one of the last wave of kids to come through to get checked in. Unnecessarily, one of the mindless Capitol drones pokes my thumb with a needle, spilling precious drops of scarlet all over the pristine white page. Gloved hands shove me forward, causing my skinny legs to go forward mindlessly; hopefully my charcoal colored hair isn't sticking up, as I'll never hear the end of it from Mother.

The next half hour flies by, with each of the Victors uttering a dull speech about the Hunger Games. Tiny pinpricks of fear reside in their eyes, yet all but one have their faces creased into a smile; Nept Riddle isn't all too pleased about the loss of his son. Sapphire, his daughter, is standing across from me in the girl's section, as we're the same age; I can already tell that she's going to Volunteer. Foreshadowing, almost, from that way she's glancing around cockily. Quite frankly, I'd hate to end up in the arena at all, but with Sapphire, there wouldn't be any way for me to expect what was coming next. Plus, people at school are always talking about her when they think she's not there, and from what I've read, that's bound to knock a screw or two out of place.

"Without further ado," Ariella Watchermen, the ice queen of an Escort for District Four, speaks into the microphone, "Our female Tribute for District Four is…Misty Ying!"

"I Volunteer!" Sapphire calls out boldly, glancing around with narrowed eyes, as if looking for someone to try and steal the spotlight from her.

No one does, so the feisty red head walks up to the stage haughtily. In a way, she reminds me of Amy Pond, a companion of the Doctor; too bad she'll probably never find her Rory, her one true love. We haven't won the Hunger Games in a while, yet our losing streak isn't as bad as District Two's is. Sapphire probably knows that too, declaring her name boldly to a happy District, though I can tell that her father doesn't share the same feelings; it had been too soon after losing Nicolas for him. People to drastic things in those cases, deadly things, final things…

"As for the boy who will be accompanying Miss Riddle, give a warm District Four welcome to….Caspian Cavaliere!" Ariella announces, beaming out warmly at the crowd.

Blinking, that's just about all that I find myself doing. Everything feels numb and silent as I approach the stage, including the sobbing wails of Mother; she must have thought that this was a bad thing. The stairs feel like they take an eternity to climb, though in reality, it must have been only a minute. Dazed, that's probably the emotion that this would be called, but there's no reason for it. Everything has a happy ending but…I don't want to die.

I'm not ready to die.

* * *

So the song you saw was, "The Stowaway" from the Doctor Who soundtrack. A lot of references to that show in this, so I hope no fellow fans rip me to pieces for me. Caspian was described as a "sci-fi geek" and that just happened to have been my favorite science fiction show/book/movie. District 5 Reapings (hopefully) will be up on Friday, and I took a tad bit of creative liscense with them...In a good way though :) Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please, remember to review. No voting for your own Tribute.

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	6. District Five Reaping

_Marlene Rosenthall (16), District Five Female-POV_

Tying the laces of my Reaping shoes, the only thing that I've been able to afford, I try my best to ignore the stark whiteness of the room. Everything in here has been scrubbed down and polished, removing all traces of imperfection that the staff possibly could. Of course, that meant that they had sprayed down my clothing earlier, claiming that they didn't want me carrying any of my germs into the Reaping ceremony. Too many people were close by, which wasn't something that they wanted; they didn't even let me sign in at the DNA check in. Each year, a troop of Peacekeepers had to escort me inside, right before the Escort called us all to attention; most of the kids at school teased me about it. They didn't bother me though, since I had a couple of friends to keep me company, and if needed, a quiet little world, just for me, existed inside of my head.

"I don't know, Ted…," a black haired lady, dressed in an unflattering white coat whispered into headset, "There's no cure for it…Perhaps it is best if…Yes, yes. I believe we'll have to contain it while we still can. Sixteen's not too uncommon…"

My brown eyes widen ever so slightly, having picked out the pieces of the conversation that I could. Of course, it could very well be that I was overreacting, that they wouldn't send me into the Hunger Games on purpose. People may not have a high chance of survival with my…well, my condition, but I've been holding on long enough. If I live to be thirty, then I will have surpassed my father- the father that I never had the time or chance to love. People told me that he had my ginger hair, though his didn't fall in fiery locks. Not too surprising, as just about each pair of Tributes we'd had from District Five lately had someone with red hair in it; Reina Vane had it last year. And I don't remember who represented us the year before, as Jeremy had begun to act a bit odd which stole away most of my attention, but the familiar flash of scarlet must have been there.

"Yes, yes…I'll…I'll send her down in a moment," the woman mumbled, as if I couldn't hear her from here, "'suppose this is for the best…right, Ted?"

A subtle click occurs minutes later, as the woman reclines back in her chair. Such a look of pity is on her face, though I know very well that she doesn't care about me in the slightest. I narrow my eyes, which Aurora, one of my friends, claimed resembled that of a demons. At the moment, I'd been in the midst of one of my seizures, so I hadn't exactly been able to reply to it. Still, at these rare moments when I didn't have to worry about anything going wrong, things like that felt comical and trivial. A quick glance at the metallic clock reminded me that I'd have to leave soon, as the brigade would be here soon enough to pick me up.

To my left, the pile of freshly pressed clothing awaits one of the rare luxuries of this place. Though I guess, if the District Five Hospital decides that you need to stay the night once a week, with a daily check in with a doctor each morning, it's the very least they could do for you. Already, my brand new blue jeans hug my legs, not very tightly though, as most of the stores here cater to the rich- the people that aren't stick thin from starvation. At least the jean jacket finally fits, as my dad had purchased it for me when I was little, and I grew into it this past year. A plus, but when I look into the mirror, with the plain white shirt being my finest top, I could just here the critical remarks people in the Capitol would give me for this. Oh well, let them say whatever they want; it's not like I haven't heard it all before.

"It's time to go, isn't it?" I ask, standing up as I walked towards the lady, who sat separated from me by a seat of glass, "No more tests, eh? Guess you guys finally run out of them. Or maybe you're still developing them…just like the cure for the impossible."

The lady, whose name I remember is Melanie, Melanie Pipes, stares up at me awkwardly. Her eyes dart back and forth, as if she's considering possible routes of escape; she must have forgotten the real scenario. They'd locked me up in this chamber long enough for me to analyze all of the controls, and to know that one of them could add oxygen, one of their attempts to cure my asthma. But just as things can be added, they also can be taken away; from the way Melanie was talking, she's all too capable of doing that. I stare forward at her unblinking, watching the unnatural signs of panic erupt under her body, which is practically sweating more than a terrified Tribute did in the Hunger Games. Paranoid Pipes, that's what they had been calling her behind her back earlier; I tended to overhear a lot of conversations that people have. All of them are so busy avoiding me, so that they don't gain my curse, my burden that they don't even bother to see if I'm standing right behind them.

Obviously trying to compose herself, Melanie taps on the microphone, causing an ear splitting screech to echo through the room. Some of the people here shouldn't really be let near technology, as I feel myself start to waver, the way that I can tell a seizure is coming on. Gritting my teeth, I feel helpless as I collapse to the ground, hitting my head against the blank whiteness of this morbid feeling room. The only thing I can do now is keep my eyes wide open, watching as the daily rerun of my uttermost tortures flickers right by, disappearing like mist before I am able to lift a finger.

_"Come with us…," _the voices seem to chant, starting off faintly, yet continuing to louder volumes, _"We'll keep you safe, Marlene….Come with us. We'll keep you safe. Come with us. We'll keep you safe. Come with us."_

My vision bursts into vivid colors; scarlet, purple, indigo, orange, the softest pink, and the most heartbreaking lilac. Another one is at the edge of my spectrum, having no defining traits, nothing that I could possibly describe it from. It wasn't the first time that I'd seen it, breathing in awe as I stared at it, not even aware of my thrashing limbs and eerie laughter. It must have been the things that dreams were made out of, that imagination thrived on, and the color that our souls were firmly painted. Yet sooner than I would have liked, the iridescent color was ripped from my sight, or in better words, my mind was ripped from my body.

_"Hello, Marlene…," _a pale form whispered, lying down on a bed covered in blankets, _"Mom send you to check on me? I'm…I'm okay."_

With a mop of red hair, sweat glistened down the forehead of the twelve year old boy. Sweet hazel eyes beamed upwards, as if I had been the one dying, not him. My heart felt heavy with the knowledge of what would happen to him, the event that would take my sweet Jack away from me; the event that would me as an only child. Dad had already died, leaving mother stricken with grief and despair, and from the way Melanie had been whispering, they'll be another Rosenthall funeral soon enough. Of course, there's no way that I would have been able to tell Jack that, as a sweet faced girl, with curly auburn hair, beat me to it already.

_"The clock will strike," _the girl said, staring towards me with deadly seriousness, _"The clock will strike 'till eternal night. And one will fall to rule them all."_

She pushed her curls over her shoulder, hitting the face of my brother with a stray few. With my seizures, images like this normally are to be expected; it wasn't the first time that I've relived deaths. My father's, dying from the same disease that I'm afflicted with at twenty two years old had been a reoccurring one that visited me as a young child. Of course, by the time I was just twelve years old, it had been replaced with that of my brother Jack, who died from pneumonia. I guess you could say that us Rosenthalls had weak immune systems and still wouldn't know how right you were. But right now, I wouldn't have found the time or the reason to correct you, as the supernatural invaded my horrid dream.

Just like a ghost, the auburn curls seemed to sink inside of Jack's face. However, the worst thing must have been that only I could see the girl; that within my mind, something had been coming to haunt me. Something to do with a striking clock, some sort of counting device at the very least, and with darkness falling. All but one of us falling, with one falling to rule; it didn't make any sense at all. Yet nothing ever really made sense anymore to me; it hadn't for a long while. I suppose that I ought to get used to it, as I have a bad feeling that a storm has finally arrived.

_Jeremy Carath (18), District Five Male-POV_

With a crummy consistency to it, the cinnamon flavored oatmeal fell down onto the clean plate. Quickly going through the process of diffusion, which my Biology teacher had been lecturing on a couple days prior, the immaculate white surface kissed the dust. None of its cleanliness would remain, with the thick sauce, drizzled on top of it carelessly, invaded the neighboring kingdoms, and appeared to have won an easy victory. None of the dazzling whiteness that covered it, having been painted many years ago, had stood a chance against it. But of course, they would remain supreme again, as a war craft of silver, long and slender, clattered down to a dizzying halt a second's journey away. This left me, the lone witness of the dastardly battle, a tremendous choice to make. Without any effort on my part, I could create genocide of the oatmeal people, wiping them off of the map for all of existence; the plate kind would be pleased.

"Why don't you just eat it, Jeremy?" Raif, my thirteen year old brother, inquires, "Its not hard or anything. I mean, it's not like they'll fail you like they did at-"

"Raif, don't talk that way. You know how Jeremy's sensitive about…that," Mom chastises, holding up the feared paddle in case Raif doesn't listen to her the first time around.

Rolling my eyes slightly, I pick up the fork that Raif had tossed me, in a rush to devour his own sugar coated food. Most of the time, we don't get to see delicacies such as this, but we've lucked out for this year. Perhaps we'll be able to keep it this way, allowing Raif and I to be considered a healthy weight eventually; most of the people in our District are malnourished. No one is trying to stop it either, as the Capitol continues to punish us further into oblivion, further under their all dominating control. Like a moth takes a flame, the mighty fortress that imposes us enjoys the punishment to the very core of our souls. Last year's District Five Tribute, Elezar Brewen, probably would have agreed as well; he's quite a philosophical guy, from what I had been able to tell from the footage. Of course, the largest grip that they hold upon anyone has to be Marlene, the most beautiful person that I've ever laid eyes upon. Her voice is heavenly, like the choruses of angels from above, and it's so easy to lose yourself in, to close your eyes shut and remain there forevermore. But the door has become covered in frost, leaving me to fear for her, to want to be able to protect the one crush I had that never left; the one crush that feels something like love to me. The others have come and go, but the diseased girl has never seemed to leave my mind; in the corner of my eye, transparent ember-like curls are always visible.

"So Jeremy!" Raif starts up again, hastily downing a spoonful of oatmeal; unfortunately, he hasn't learned to eat with his mouth closed, "Guess what time it is? Guess! Guess!"

For a moment, the deep blue eyes of my younger brother transported me back to another time. A time when whatever news he was going to squeal wouldn't affect our futures, a time where we didn't have to worry about being chosen for the dastardly Hunger Games no more. Yet as the snow on the mountain tops must crumble, no matter how strong neither in number nor in size, the same fate awaits the children of Panem. The same fate may very well be the destiny of Raif, my towheaded brother, who is almost identical to me in description, yet not at all in stature; it was like gazing out of the present and into the past. A feat that I'm sure no one could have attempted yet at such a point of history, at such a point of time, and at such a point of the empty vacuum of space.

"What time is it?" I muttered, delicately scooping up a small portion of the oatmeal; the plate seems to celebrate its victory.

Raif's eyes dart back and forth, as if there's some deep and dark secret within him, just bursting to get out. His heart must be hammering so fast, like an injured yet excited dove, awaiting it's time to be released from whatever has captured it. Mrs. Labros, my English teacher, did always say that I had a way with words, but it's mainly because I don't think like other people do. I think of life, the world, and just plain old thoughts as pictures; there's relatively no noise inside of my head, making reality seem like such a strange and foreign place in comparison. Perplexing, really, must have been the only word suited to describe it, the only word that would correctly slot into place when letters are squares and the ideas are circles.

"It's time….for the Reaping!" Raif shouted, abruptly tossing his head back to consume the last couple of morsels, the way that some of the Tributes in years earlier had done so many times, before literally bolting out of the house.

Hearing a grunt, I whip my head around, feeling a slight whoosh as my black tie hits against my chest. Dad's sitting there, staring dully ahead, his newspaper- _Capitol News!_- sitting folded up in his lap. Obviously, the lack of emotion means that he wants me to do something; Dad never really wanted to have kids, and from what I can tell, Raif and I were accidents. Or at least, we're as much an accident as the rushing river, abruptly changing its course, is directionally challenged. Bearing this in mind, it takes me a moment before I succumb to Dad's wishes, wishes that aren't delightful and sweet, to be granted by a fairy, yet instead hold a task in store, for me in particular. I step up from my chair, watching as the soft dust plum rises up, having been disturbed from its resting place as my tiny foot hit the oak paneled floor. Other people wouldn't have noticed the little things, but I tend to zoom in and focus on them, to feel the wind whistle as it shoots through my hair, a side effect of the abrupt sprint I launched myself into. Living fairly close to the Justice Building, it wouldn't be very long until I finally caught up with Raif, who must have been a speed demon in his own right.

"Jeremy!" a high pitched voice cried out, repeating my name over and over again.

For a moment, I turn my head to the side, running awkwardly forward at the same moment. There's no one there, though I'm positive that I heard someone. Someone who sounded sweet, someone who I somehow knew had eyes that could sour like those of a demon, quickly and without any warning at all. Everything felt surreal, as if the dark and dreary shop windows didn't belong in my reality, that the screaming echoing from the distance had never existed. My stomach quickly twisted into knots as I turned my gaze away, hoping for the little nightmare- a daymare- to go away as fast as it had come. The blinding sunlight felt harsher, as the beats of my heart seemed like they were accelerating, running faster than that of a race horse. Prickly, that's how my very skin felt, as an image intruded my mind. The vivid illusion flashes by so quickly it leaves me gaping, completely bewildered in every aspect of my body. Of course, as soon as I clamber to a halt, standing five people behind Raif in line, the words are beginning to slip out of my mind. _A storm is coming. _

"Hand, please," a lady states dully, holding out the tiny needle.

Dutifully, I comply and allow them to draw the blood. Part of me quivers in disgust, as it reminds me of the several times that Marlene had coughed up that very substance. As I walk quickly to the area for eighteen year old boys, I feel as morose as a mother who was told her child was ailing and had no hope of recovery. I stare forward as Tilinus, a thin faced man who resembles a goose, one which had been trodden upon by a massive giant, enters the stage flamboyantly.

"W-Welcome!" Tilinus cheers out, lines appearing on his face as he broadens into an all out grin, "As this is going to be my last year as Escort, I received permission from P-President Gremlin to mix things up a little bit! I thought it would just be lovely to reap the Tributes before the video! Don't you?"

Silence is the only thing he receives in reply, as people stare hatefully forward. Yet when I strain my ears, the soft sounds of marching feet reaches my ears, as foreign as a panda would be on a unicycle; Marlene must be arriving in a moment or two. Each year, the camera would train in on her; the queasy feeling fills me up once more, making me hope that I didn't tempt fate with that almost thought. That I didn't endanger her, by thinking how much the Peacekeepers must wish that she would just die. That she would roll over, that way they wouldn't have to deal with her; it just proves what a horrible world we live in.

"Ah, Miss Rosenthall, it's lovely to see you," Tilinus commented, as the crew deposited Marlene in her sectioned off area, "How are you faring this year?"

Bitterly, Marlene kept her face placid, though each ounce of venom she felt towards the world was easily heard in her reply, "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Oh, what a card!" Tilinus exclaimed, before reaching into the Reaping ball, shifting through the numerous white slips before pulling out a single one.

Dread coursed through my every vein before Tilinus had even read the card.

"And this year's District Five Tribute will be….Miss Marlene Rosenthall! Come on up, my darling!" Tilinus grinned, his face twisting into an obscene and wolfish mask, as several of the children in the District let out a relived sigh; they were afraid of being infected, and if Marlene died, they thought they would be safe.

"Guess this means we'll be seeing each other a lot more, doesn't it?" Marlene stated idly, strolling up to the stage with her Peacekeeper bodyguard, "I ought to have been used to it by now. Especially when you'll be with me when I become a Mentor for the new Tributes."

Tilinus grins, pulling in Marlene for a chilling embrace. In my mind, icicles freeze over, obstructing the fiery red hair beneath the layer of frost, sealing her away from me forever. Reasoning told me that it would have been too late for that, as Marlene's fate had already been sealed, coldly and without a trace of heart. No one would care for her, no one in the world would weep; her troubles only grew, until time decided that she should cease.

"And for the plucky young man, we'll have…," Tilinus paused dramatically, his teal eyes sweeping over the crowd; he must have gotten them modified, to match the murderous Tribute from District Ten last year, which just proved that he didn't have an ounce of loyalty to District Five, "Jeremy Carath!"

What? Me? A quick glance up towards the stage confirms that, as Marlene's eyes have widened slightly in alarm. Seconds must have passed as I watched them, not listening as Tilinus repeated my name over again, or as Raif started to stutter. Gold reflected out of them, though in a moment, I would have to watch as they tightened; Marlene had just decided something, probably that she would kill me in a heartbeat. Some of the people in my situation wouldn't have let her, but as I stumbled forward, almost tripping over the pant legs which were too wide, an eerie sort of tension built between us. Neither of us was going to be allies in the arena; that much I could tell; we were both too concerned about living.

"I Volunteer!" a voice screams out, breaking slightly; a sign that the person had been going through puberty.

"No!" I holler out, running through the jammed up crowd of kids, and bruising one of them in the process, "No Volunteers!"

They better hope that I'm not a Victor, because if I am, there will be hell to pay. They would have taken away someone I love- I mean someone who is my friend, and I will work to end this stupid system of sacrificing kids just for a little bit of control. No one is going to endanger my little brother, there's no way that I'm going to let him go into the Hunger Games; girls aren't important when it comes to family. Family is the thing that matters most, the thing that I'll be holding to me dearly if I meet my death in this arena. And it isn't startling like I expected, the realization of what I was willing to do.

I was willing to kill the girl from District Five; I was willing to have Marlene's infected blood on my hands.

* * *

District Six Reaping will be up (hopefully) on Monday. Also, I changed both of these characters a fair bit, as you all have figured out that I do tend to love drama. Along with the fact that I doubt that anyone would fall in love with their murderer, unless they're from Twilight, aaaaand...Right. No Twilight bashing today, as some of you might like it and hunt me down with your pointy teeth!  
As always, please vote!

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	7. District Six Reaping

_Soxalia Chia (14), District Six Female-POV_

At the very dawn of time, the beginning of creation, our world was filled with nothingness. Terror crashed down upon the stars in waves, obliterating every bit of goodness that had filled the land. Screams were normal to hear, a guttural sound that had become forbidden yet welcome at all times. Darkness ruled over the land, its icy fit casting out the light into the shadows, in which they were devoured until they lasted no more. Running only encouraged this monster farther, with his eyes shining like rubies, and terrifying claws the size of skyscrapers; they were, after all, named after the Darkness. Chaos, that's what the fearsome land had been called, painted in such hues of red that marred the graceful hues of the sky. All sense of color and direction would be lost on the people, sending them into endless spirals until they too, become a creature of the Darkness; something that dealt in fear without ever ceasing.

Yet as light is created from darkness, and the shadows created from the soft glow, the Darkness knew its grip would not be forever strong. Something would come, a beast more horrible than they could ever dream to be- if they were even capable of hoping that is. It scared fear itself, the idea that a gruesome conqueror would be able to overtake its land, its people, and the dismal system that the Darkness had been ever so fond of. Painting the sky with ash, the Darkness let out a warning shot, breaking the harsh gray rays and filling them with an eerie redness; a shade that the blind eyes screamed in alarm upon seeing. For they knew that a thousand horrors would befall them, worse than the evils they had suffered through, robbing them of sight and soul. Never before had they done this, yet the leader of the people, a man named Pangu, pleaded with the torturers of mankind. At first, the Darkness was relentless, swallowing the family of Pangu up in their mouths, mashing them down with their great gaping teeth. Long into the night, the lone man listened to the anguished cries, echoing inside of his head, until his eyes went blind as well. Crumpling from the weights of the world, glistening tears crawled out of the corner of his eyes, attempting to comfort the man filled with woe.

Lined like silver, they pooled around him, attracting a substance that Pangu had never known before. Attracted the way a moth is to a flame, it swirled around the man, changing every essence of his being. Bruised legs, the color of coal dust on a winter morning, shortened until they disappeared; they carried Pangu's pain. All of the dirt and grime vanished, leaving Pangu as clean as a freshly pressed sheet, the very color of white that snow on a crisp Christmas morning appears to be. Malnourished, the Silver molded his shape, rounding him perfectly, and then shrinking him in the process. Pleased with their work, the Silver felt astonished when Pangu didn't jump with joy, for his body had been rounded and filled with yoke, the very substance of life. Pangu was sad and lonely, feeling alone from the world and his kind, as he no longer could walk, and no longer could he embrace his people. Weeping, the man begged the Silver to release him, yet they had turned harsh and cold. For them, they saw a man who had lain aching, asking for them to benefit his life by bestowing gifts upon him, and so they do. Anger rushed through the Silver, seeing that Pangu hadn't been grateful.

And so they killed him, chopping off the head of the man, and casting another layer of horrible scarlet upon the land. Quickly, the Silver told the Darkness to release the people, that it would be their domain until the end of time itself. Wearing masks of old, they pushed the Darkness into hiding, giving them one time of day in which they may rule the land; the time of night, the time of death, and the time of deep sorrow. For what they had learned was to never forgive, to not help the dreadful people of the land, who had become worst beasts than the Darkness themselves over time. Designating power to one person, to be their puppet, they created a land out of the body of Pangu; the land of silk and forgiveness. For many a century, they fooled the people into believing that all would be well, that the only thing they must do is forget and live; to not remember the horrors that they had suffered. And so they did, believing and trusting with their blind eyes, with the wise forsaken and the idiotic celebrated.

The family Chia, small in number, was casted out on a boat of wood, left to be devoured by the nightmare spirits. Hellish screeching chased them, demanding the tiny treasure that they had brought with them, the item that they had stolen. For they had been forsaken; they had stolen the egg of Pangu, the protection of the people, in want of a better life. Yet the Silver heard the whispers of those who had been left behind, knowing that the web of lies they had weaved would soon fall, casting the empire of silk into the dark and dreary waters. And so the Silver called upon the Darkness, telling it to follow the family Chia, to ensure the demise of them all.

To ensure that I, the keeper of Pangu, would never see the light of day again. As the youngest daughter, the purest member of the family, the tiny little egg had been left in my care. My hands had rubbed it, as an attempt to give Pangu, the last true one, alive on our dastardly journey. Our escape from the land of silk and lies; our desire to be casted away, to free ourselves from the shades, the horrible, horrible shades of Silver and Black. Yet the land that we had shepherded ourselves to proved to be almost just as worse, filled with the horrible crimson wisps that occupied the land of silk in the very dawn; the start of the day and the start of the night. They had whispered sweet promises in our ears, intrigued to hear about this land of silk; later, I learned that they had been planning an invasion. But not before I had written my name down on slips, sealing the fate of Soxalia Chia, the keeper of Pangu, and the last child of the Chia family. The last person that the Silver would hunt down and the Darkness would devour, listening to the screams as one would to the sweetest birds at the rise of the day.

"Interesting…," a girl with brown ringlets, with a silver feather weaved into her hair, stated after hearing my tale, "Never knew that's what you guys all believed. No wonder you got put in District Six…," Camry paused, chuckling for a second, "They think we're all a load of nutters."

"It's true though," I murmured to myself, furrowing my dark brown eyebrows, "This land is a creation of the Crimson, the child of Silver and Darkness. Panem? Ha! That's just a cover-up for what _really _goes on here."

Camry appeared amused for a second, sitting down on the tiny bed that I owned. It had been constructed from the same wood of the boat, as a reminder of my past in the land of silk; China, that's what my mother had called it fondly. Yet from the delicate tales that Father had described, in the ancient language that no one else in this place could understand, such a fragile sounding name didn't fit it at all. At least here, in Panem, the land of blood, they at least told you it was all an act; that it was bread and circus.

"Besides killing off kids each year?" Camry persisted, flopping down against the pillows, "Wake up and smell the bloodshed, Soxalia. People are going to keep on kicking the bucket, no matter what the magical whiteness-"

"Silver," I interjected, staring out the dust covered window; Camry and I would need to leave before the gang of Morphlings decided to show up. They were a rather rowdy bunch.

"Whatever," Camry remarked, rolling her eyes slightly, "Just listen to me for once. There's no mythical force at play here; things are just going to be the way that they are. No egg man is going to turn into ash, and besides, that sounds more like a stray mutation. And the ash? Probably drifted over from the bombing of Old District Thirteen. My point is, you're getting a bit too old to believe in these silly stories; I don't want to see you become gullible, Sox. Someone out there is going to take advantage of that…I don't want to see you hurt."

Staring at the feather in Camry's hair, my stomach clenched with nervousness. I had told her where I kept Pangu; I had told her that I would be bringing him to the Reaping with me today. And I had just realized that not only had Camry not cared about my story, but that her feather just happened to be silver.

_Morgan Blake (18), District Six Male-POV_

"It's your last year, sweetie," Charity stated with a broad smile, probably trying to be encouraging, "Then both you and Junior will be safe for a while…I think that sounds grand."

Before my mother had died, I might have been able to answer that question. I might have been able to communicate with the world, to be able to stand up for myself, but I really can't. All I can do is slowly nod my head, wondering to myself if my eyes reveal the burning hatred I hold for Charity Blake- the second wife of my father. With crimson colored hair, hazel eyes peek out from underneath a curtain of bangs, appearing as innocent as a doe. Charity always tried to become my mother, to step in for someone everyone else thought was gone, but I knew truly wasn't. An old book, one that I favorite, told me that the dead are only gone when no one will remain loyal to them; I will always be loyal to my mother.

"Yeah!" Junior gushes, slowing down from his run for a moment to look back at us with his grin, missing two of his teeth, "That sounds swell, Mummy!"

"Of course it does, son," Father, a strong and influential man in District Six states, "Anything that keeps my two boys alive for another year is good enough for me…Perhaps that's why I met you, Charity."

Fluttering her eyelashes, Charity leaned into Father's warm arms, sighing visibly. Some people might have said this was love, in its truest and purest form, yet I can hardly call it that when looking at my half brother. Something had to happen to welcome Amos Junior into the world, and I can assure you, there isn't anything decent about it. Of course, most people doubt my intelligence entirely, assuming that only someone of the lowest caliber could be rendered speechless for the rest of their life. And this, this was coming from the same people who downed dose after dose of the idiotic drug for each day of their life, never pondering exactly what physical changes they could expect. Because of this, I'd found myself a steadfast believer in the mysterious substance known as Karma; hopefully I could be expecting safe passage into the next year once more this Reaping. A shaggy haired kid who couldn't speak surely wouldn't last in the Hunger Games, unless Karma decided to be on my side for once and keep me safe from harm. That was something that I could only hope; any words that had fallen out of my lips would vanish before they had ever received the chance to form.

"I love you so much, Amos," Charity murmured; Junior made a sickly face, clearly as disgusted with the two of them as I.

"And as I love you, my sweet Charity…," Father replied, placing a slobbery kiss on Charity's neck, which caused her lips to part ever so slightly.

Rolling my eyes, I decided that it would be better for my sanity if I left my only living family members along with the woman. If I tried to do anything more, Father would rant for hours about the misfortune I had suffered, never quite realizing what I had been trying to tell him. He refused to learn sign language as well, the main method of communicating that I possessed, which left me limited at most times; Charity was the only one in District Six that could use it properly, besides myself. Perhaps if Junior could learn the language, one of the seldom few who managed to annoy the living daylights out of me, then things would have been different for me. Yet as the wolf is cursed by a hatred of the sun, so am I cursed; and it shall never ever be lifted from my spirit till the day I fall into the final slumber.

"Hey, hey look! It's the sweet girl….Tia? I forget her name, but she's Maya's sister! Hi person!" Junior squealed upon approaching in the check in tables; he really should have gone back to Charity and Father by now.

A girl with blonde hair glanced up sadly at us all. Her name must have been Catalina, Catalina Eberhart; Junior's horrible at remember what people are called. I would know, as he's still convinced that my middle name is Clark, when it's always been Carlisle; Morgan Carlisle Blake, the boy who never could, according to the citizens of District Six. She must have known that the odds certainly were not in my favor, not at all.

"Hey, little guy…," Catalina whispered warily, "Why don't you go over there? With the parents, as I'm sure Morgan here doesn't want you to get entered into the Reaping."

"Okay! Bye big brother!" Junior cheered, running off as Catalina stared fondly towards him.

For a moment, I allow my brown eyes to pierce into the blue orbs of the Eberhart girl. Despite the fact that her sister won the Hunger Games, something that hadn't happened in about one hundred years for District Six, certain sadness radiated out of them. I hated tears; they would only drag me down in a quiet sorrow, the type that I envisioned Avoxes suffered with after the removal of their voice. Had I been dragged down by it already? Probably, I thought with slight anger, as I moved through the line, and finally up towards the front of the stage, where they had the eighteen year old potential Tributes stand.

"Let's get this over with, eh?" Cassandra Battzy, a cool and collected woman stated into the microphone, "Personally, this may very well be the best District in Panem. I'm highly honored to have been chosen as an Escort once again this year, and hopefully, Maya and I will be able to bring home another one of your children. Without further ado, time for the _present _from the ailing President Gremlin himself."

No one clapped at this part, though as I couldn't help but notice, Cassandra wore a grimace on her face. Must have been a shock that the Capitol continued to air her on television, though I suppose they found her slightly rebellious tendencies to be lost on us Morphling addicts; we're likely to be the laughingstock of Panem until District Twelve goes on air. Especially now, when they show the smoke and bombings, the screaming and the pain, and the figure of Katniss turn from one filled with promise into the likeness of a ragdoll.

It was terrible to watch and a fate that I would not wish upon any living soul.

"And now, for the Reaping ceremony itself. To choose which child will be ripped away from their home, a fate that I wish upon none of you. Please, take a moment to make peace with your gods, as I would hope you would do to me in this situation…" Cassandra stated sadly, standing in front of the Reaping bowls.

Make peace with my gods? Never heard that bit before, but some of the more religious children- the Christians, the Jewish, and the Greek- bowed their heads momentarily. A couple feet away from me, this one boy was murmuring to Artemis, who supposedly protected the children. There wasn't really a single moment in my life in which I felt stranger, more foreign, and more like I didn't fit in District Six. In fact, not a single person, except for me, had their heads raised proudly; they all fell on hope in their darkest moments.

"And now for the girls…," Cassandra called out, plucking out a slip of paper gingerly, yet quickly, "Soxalia Chia!"

A girl with dark brown hair, tiny and chopped, pushed her way through the crowd. Confusion and desperation were on her face, before it finally struck me who this was. Soxalia Chia; the Chia family had just sort of appeared in District Six about a decade ago. Obviously, no one ever filled Soxalia in on what the Hunger Games really were; less Karma points for them, I suppose. The light green dress she wore is covered in dark ribbons, which tend to show off her curves in an alluring manner, the way that some of the people in District One may have done. While she is from my District, I don't feel a strong attachment to our first Tribute; I found it hard to feel anything at all nowadays.

Whispering a word of encouragement in Soxalia's ear, Cassandra briefly embraced her before reading out the other slip; before sealing the fate of another person, "And for the boys, we'll have…Morgan Blake."

For a moment, the name echoes in my head. Morgan Blake. That's my name, which means that Karma had abandoned me once again. Chuckling slightly, I find myself looking for the ginger head of Charity, as if seeking out someone to blame. However, the only problem with that is that I've already found someone; all I need now is a way to prove it.

* * *

I've never mentioned this before, but I actually don't have an editor. Microsoft Word checks for spelling errors, and unless I happen to catch something, that's the way the chapter stays. So for any and all typos that I've made, I must say that I apologize in advance. While I'm sure one of you would love to be an editor, other people would probably rather the chapter to be out sooner with the possibility of a typo than a day later with no errors (or at least less). I thought I should mention this, in case I have anyone who really feels strongly about that sort of stuff.

Yes, yes, I totally changed the Chinese legend of Creation. My thoughts was that after all of the physical changes to the planet, it would have also made changes to their religion. Hopefully this didn't enrage anyone, as I actually find Pangu extremely fascinating, which made it fitting that the supposed "egg of Pangu" that Soxalia refers to is in her possession. That was completely my idea and if you didn't like that, well, tough.

District Seven Reaping should be up on Friday. I barely made the deadline for this one, but I hope you enjoyed it!

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	8. District Seven Reaping

_Benjamin Romulus (15), District Seven Male-POV_

Unlike the many other citizens of the lumber District, I had not been born among their ranks. I had not received a postcard from the Griffin Company, informing my parents about how they would be expected to return to work in a week's time. My first memories had not been of peopling sobbing, drowning their happy tears in a meager portion of mead, and the younger citizens looking on with awe. That must have been the way the memories of each other child in this place, including Enobaria, my sister, who had been born in this beautiful yet dreary place.

Enobaria, the brat was almost sometimes tolerable. The two of us looked nothing alike, with the only exception that each of our eyes had become hardened, appearing more like slits of steel than soft blue irises. It was remarkable that we even shared that slight similarity, as I had been adopted; Enobaria had not been. My original District is a mystery to me, though my sister enjoyed to haughtily inform me about how the, "Losers in dumb old District Twelve," had tossed me through the gates as to avoid being disgraced anymore. Despite the fact that there wasn't any truth in it, my soul felt pained, tormented by dancing flames of the purest white; almost the color of Enobaria's hair.

"So which one of you is going to Volunteer, eh?" Julius, my adopted father, interjected sharply, "Back in my District, the Masonry District, it was not uncommon for siblings to fight for the crown. Yet I have no desire for that to happen here as well. Enobaria…_Benjamin_…One of you is going onto that stage today."

Enobaria smirked, pushing back a strand of choppy blonde hair. It felt gracefully onto her shoulder, without the slightest hint of a curl, and the paleness of it stuck out greatly against the emerald fabric. This would be her first Reaping, the first time that she would experience the terrors of it, the feeling of hopelessness and loss that radiated faithfully around the airy yard. The fog chilling people to the bone, the tears falling quickly as they remembered the loved ones that mounted that stage, and freezing to their faces like icicles in the early days of winter. A lady in red lost in a sea of gray, that's the way that Enobaria would undoubtedly feel as soon as she grew old enough to understand. To reject her roots, hailing truly from District Two, and be able to develop an understanding of the forces of life.

"I think Wolf Boy should Volunteer," Enobaria commented coldly, jamming her silver spoon into the bowl of cereal, "it's about time that he gets some guts."

Scoffing, I try to tune out there banter, reaching deep down inside of myself to a realm all of my own. A place where my spirit can soar, free from these complacent people, and such feelings of contrite. Pensively, I stare into the silver bowl, watching with dull curiosity as a perfect image of me is reflected. Silver hair hangs loosely, able to do whatever it wants, no matter how many times I try and restrict its growth. Cautious and feral, golden eyes stare intently forward, almost hungrily in a strange and sadistic way. No traces of emotion are found on my composure, a blank and limitless mask that is constantly changing, and yet to others, remains that way permanently.

Pieces of the wild truly never leave, it seems.

"Don't call your brother 'Wolf Boy'" Rachel, the sister of District Seven's Mayor and my mother chastised, "A proper lady does _not _act that way; no exceptions."

"Guess I'm not a proper lady then," Enobaria stated, boredom filling her voice as she spun an apple in her hand, "Rather be alive anyways. All of the nice and neat ones end up dying, you know. My name won't be going down on the books for dying. I'll be in there for _winning._"

Rachel sighed, but as Enobaria seemed to have lost all interest in the conversation, she conceded a victory to her daughter. That was the way it happened all of the time, becoming a postulate of my world, truth to be told. Rachel would always detest the way that we lived, the way that Julius had been raising her pride and joys to think, and we would always stare blankly at her. Nothing was in her control, leaving the woman filled to the brim with diffidence, pondering what could have been. According to Julius, and Enobaria as well, dreaming was a waste of time, something that could be used for becoming extremely well versed in the ways of mortal combat. To be able to internalize what you are and always will be; a murderer.

Despite the extravagant refineries inside of the house, no warmth or love had been added to it. Like static, the shadows were more welcoming than we were, and any traces of a bond would dissolve in moments. Love is for the weak, a lesson that strangely enough, Julius had not been the one to deliver it to me. That had been the business of the wolves; I had not been raised in civilization as a small child. Abandoned to the woods, all traces of humanity washed away, swept down the river of life; the path had become sealed off for me in a matter of days. I'll never forget the wrought iron fence, looming aggressively ahead; as a woman ran off with tears in her eyes. Voluminous brown hair, I have a feeling that her eyes had not always been gold, that it had been some sort of awful chemical, some sort of test.

Could it have been that she was my mother? Sister? Cousin? Aunt? The questions continued to bounce around my head, creating a din larger than the battle cries of a thousand foes. Lingering ideas echoed, yet from the one blood test I had taken, stealing a golden locket off of Rachel late in the night, one thing had been made clear to me. Chemicals, horrible and illegal, were found present in my bloodstream. Curiously, they hadn't made any threat, only mangling my DNA slightly; perhaps the reason that my hair refused to be cropped, no matter who held the shears. And unfortunately, further research and time proved that while I was in no danger now, it is likely that will not be the case years into the future. Small signs, subtle and tiny, had already cropped up, but I knew that the cold and uncaring softness of death may be my only hope for release.

"_Benjamin_…," Julius cleared his throat, always using a slight tone of disgust when he said my name; he had desired to call me Brutus, probably another one of the fabled Victors of the _Golden Age_, "Did you not hear me?"

Wistfully staring out of the window, into the sea of remorse, I replied tonelessly, "Your words had no meaning. I had no cause or reason to listen…._Father_."

A small smirk crept onto my lips. One of my favorite things had been to tease him slightly, to play the same game that he enjoyed as well. It was to be expected that my behavior would have altered from my previous years, as Enobaria and I had been trained ruthlessly. Some small features would occasionally escape my mask, but just like this time, as soon as the slip had been found it was quickly eliminated. There would be no reason to voice my discontentment with the operations of this various District, the hopes and sorrows of others made no difference to me, only allowing me to stare forward in complacency without the slightest thought of retribution. Julius and Rachel had no idea why they were lucky when they found me, when Jspence lead me out of the woods and into my home, yet the storming clouds above crackled with anger. I knew their secret, and yet I kept my lips firmly sealed; Julius and Rachel were not worthy of such information.

Fury crept into the voice of Julius, causing the alto tone to turn into one of the darkest brass, "Do you dare disrespect me? After all that I've done for you…? I-I…I have no need for son, Brut-_Benjamin_! Clearly, I should have just waited for Enobaria to come along, instead of taking in a worthless piece of scum such as yourself!"

I would have to wait him out. Angry red blotches sprouted up all over the face, reminding myself of the time that I had hurt Enobaria. Something had come over me, something wild and insane, and resulted in a scar, running down her left arm. Even now, the soft pink flesh of hers revealed it, showing it off as a souvenir, which contrasted greatly with her Reaping dress.

"I should have left you to the wolves! They might have been able to do something with you, teach you how to become feral completely, as it's far too late for your manners!" Julius screamed, standing up with the collar of his shirt sticking up slightly, "You're a outrage in the worst way possible! I…I should have done this a long time ago. _Benjamin _Clop Romulus, I-"

What he said next shocked me.

_Aria Mallows (15), District Seven Female-POV_

Bobbing up and down, a girl with brown hair frantically asks questions. Spilling out of her mouth like a tsunami, I already knew the source of the problem. Today would be Erin's first Reaping; the first time that she'll have her name thrown into the selection for the future dead. Of course, if any of us is likely to be picked, it would have to be Regina. Each of us are tiny and compact, appearing to be more like twelve year olds, and perhaps even boys. As Regina, well Reggie, is a good three years older than me, I don't have much hope that I'll ever be taller. Just peachy, eh? I'm already in High School and the teachers still try and send me down to the grade school. Completely brilliant; if only someone else in my family would agree, but they're too busy fawning over Erin and Reggie, as if they don't have three daughters.

Well, in their mind, that must be the exact case. As when I came downstairs this morning, Mom nearly screamed and called the police. Yeah, ain't that just the definition of _love_? If that's true, it's no wonder that so many people are divorced and so many of them end up in orphanages. It makes almost as much sense as the Hunger Games. You know, killing off innocent kids just because you're grumpy about people rebellion will _surely _make sure that nothing like that ever happens again.

The world must be full of idiots.

"B-B-But what if the wind blows the slip out of Khihan's hand? What then?" Erin pestered, nervously tapping her hand against her knee.

_One two three four…_

_One two three four…_

"Would you mind cutting that out, Erin?" I ask sharply, "Or if that's too hard, I suppose I can go bang my head against a rock instead….Whatever works for you."

Reggie frowned, staring forward at me with a slight annoyance. So it seems that something does get to the overachiever then, besides not earning each precious point on a test. Huffing slightly, I made my message clear; get in my way and regret it, _princess_. Just about no one was able to boss me around, as last time that I checked, people hadn't figured out a suitable way of hypnosis. All decisions would be made by yours truly until further notice; sorry if that _bothers _someone, but I really don't care. If anyone has a reason to care, send me a memo, perhaps with some chocolate as well….Mmm….I bloody love chocolate; Aaron learned that fact just in time for my birthday as well.

Erin frowned, pouting ever so slightly as she stared towards me, "But Aria…I need to know!"

"No, you really don't," I scoffed, rolling my hazel eyes, "All you need is air. Water might be nice, and every once in a while, some food may be called for. But if you're telling me that you absolutely _need _to know something that's _never ever _going to happen, then be my guest. I just won't be the one coming to your funeral, princess. End of story. Kapeesh?"

Tears sprung into Erin's crystal blue eyes. Sheesh, you would have thought that I'd cussed her out. For once, I actually didn't even use one of the swears that I'd picked up from school, even if I had been thinking them. As soon as I start taking French class next year, I'll be sure to cuss them each out each opportunity I get. Shoot me; I wouldn't care at all. Never really did get along well with my sisters, as Erin's a crybaby and Reggie's a major freak. From my experiences so far in life, most people tend to be annoying and have some ultimate task to annoy the heck out of you as much as they possibly can.

Just in case it isn't obvious, I'm not that much of an optimist. That ship sailed when my dog _ran away _to another District when I was nine years old. Rather stupid story for my parents to have told, as it became apparent as to what _really _happened when I saw the still carcass being passed around to the highest bidder at the Sap, the black market of District Seven. Of course, Mom and Dad probably would have fainted if they knew that I went there, even if Aaron's family had been running one of the stalls, and we'd been best friends since I was six; go figure.

"Why do you hate me so much?!" Erin screeched, before running inside of the house.

"Nice going, genius," Reggie muttered under her breath before trudging after Erin; her loss, not mine.

"Whatever, _Princess_," I sneered, before turning on my heel and heading off for the Reaping.

The walk isn't all too long, something that irks me slightly, as I was counting on some time to think. I'm not a people person, so prolonged contact really can get me all riled out, causing incidents to happen all the time. Very reason that I'm going to be dumping, well breaking up, with Aaron; far too clingy for my tastes. Hand holding and stuff like that doesn't really thrill me, instead, it feels like I have to be nice. Which, no offense to the bubbly little kids that are dreaming about stuff like that, doesn't really make for an adventure. If I'm going to be entertained, then someone is going to have to accept that I'm not going to put up with them being prissy all day long; sorry, but that's just the way I roll. If it bothers you, well, you're just going to have to deal with it; life's not fair anyways, so I don't intend to make it that way.

"Give me your arm," an irritated Capitol person stated as I approached the start of the line.

"You say that to all the ladies, don't ya pal?" I muttered, reluctantly complying to avoid being arrested.

Yeah, it would be awkward to have to call my parents to bail me out of jail. Considering that I don't actually talk to them, hug them, or even know their first names. It would be like calling some random stranger and demanding that they hand over a large chunk of cash; that just sounds crazy when thinking about it. But as the man waved me through, a little more exasperated than when I left him, I caught a brown haired girl staring at me with a twinkle of amusement. Cypress Junos; the lucky one who somehow managed to beat up a bunch of idiotic Careers during her Hunger Games. Hopefully I'd never be in the Hunger Games, as I doubt that I would be able to shut my mouth during the arena; I'm a rather judgmental person, on everyone but myself of course.

Eventually, the Escort mounted the stage and got everything going. Reggie and Erin must have been around somewhere, but quite frankly, I just couldn't find the energy to look for them. Or maybe it might have been the fact that I didn't really like my sisters; take your pick. Anyways, Erin must have stopped crying, or at least she will as Khihan yammered on and on, through the video as well. It wasn't quite as horrifying when the Escort was telling you all about how last summer he got kidnapped by the Gremlin family maid and wasn't allowed to leave until he pet her dog. And these are the type of people in charge of the world? Worst idea that I've ever heard of, quite frankly, and I've heard a _lot _of stupid things. More than my fair share, if I do say so myself.

"Horrible things, I know!" Khihan exclaimed, smoothing down the creases of his _dress_, "Now, I know that I tend to blabber a bit, so without further ado…the lady that will represent District Seven unless someone Volunteers…the one that will have the pride-"

"GET ON WITH IT!" someone bellowed from the crowd, in which a couple people giggled from nervousness.

"Yes, quite right…and this year's Tribute is…Aria Mallows!" Khihan announced, pushing back a strand of long red hair to peer out into the crowd, "Come along now, don't be shy!"

What? Come again? This must be some sort of crazy dream, right? It's the idiots that get Reaped, not me. In fact, Reggie would probably Volunteer right now, just to show me up and prove that I'm worth nothing. She probably rigged it this way too, bribing Khihan before the…no, she couldn't have done that; we shared a room and I would have noticed if she snuck out. There's no way that I'm letting her meet boys until she's left the nest; I don't have time to deal with a whining pregnant lady. But as no one stepped forward, I plastered a smirk on my face and walked forward. Things just got real, and from what I've seen, the ones that die usually end up on the Bloodbath list; my reaction to this is hopefully going to keep me off of it and into the _lovely _land of sponsorship. Sucks to be the other Tribute though, as I guarantee that he's going to have a hard time looking nearly as put together as I do, beaming out determinedly as the crowd on the stage, next to the cross-dressing abomination that just happens to be our Escort.

"Lovely girl! I'm sure that you'll last longer than the last one, Juliet I believe, did!" Khihan chattered earnestly, not even realizing that he messed up on the name, "And for the young man to accompany Miss Mallows….it will be none other than…"

"I Volunteer," a boy calls out calmly, as if he was merely telling the teacher that he'd prefer to do his homework after school instead of after dinner.

A quick glance causes me to only burst out laughing; it's Wolf Boy.

* * *

I must say, I loved both of these characters. Also, the District Eight Reaping might come out late, as I have a biology project to do this weekend as well as attending a reception for a wedding. It'll be out on Wednesday or Tuesday at the very latest, so I'm sorry if I don't manage a Monday update. You all know what to do below and thanks so much for reviewing! It means a lot to me and also helps me develop a plot line for the story! If you've picked up hints on the fates of certain Tributes, tell me below- I'm curious to see who is right and who is wrong.

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	9. District Eight Reaping

_Jaspe Hallindale (16), District Eight Male-POV_

_The darkness covered her like cloth, damp and frayed from years of torment. Wispy in appearance, all thoughts of pensive days had been long gone, vanishing the way dust does in the wind. It gave no affect upon the young girl, who had long since stopped shivering, having forgotten how to feel. Inner demons danced around her, jeering and laughing in a tuneless song, without a shred of remembrance flickering beyond her silver speckled eyes. It had been too painful to acknowledge what had happened to her, in a time that seemed more suiting a fairytale, in which a valiant knight would save the fair maiden. _

_No one would be coming to her aid, that much was clear. Ghouls, existing in places known to no mortal, whispered terrifying things in her ear. Promises that never could be fulfilled, dreams that never would occur, and experiences that she never would have. For a moment, the girl twitched, her pale features animated for a brief moment, but alas, stillness reclaimed her once more. Her eyes stared upwards at the ceiling, examining it as flickering light, caused by a thunderous strike, danced around the room as if taunting her. Peacefully angered, any attempts of movement were lost on her; her limbs were made of ice. Fear, the haunting and dreary emotion, had been the last thing that her fluttering heart would be able to feel. It now resided inside of her, covered in a thin layer of frost, struggling like a bird in a cage with no hopes of escape; it was a pity that youth was wasted on the young. _

_Abruptly, the girl's neck rolled over to the side, subtly enough that no one had been able to bear witness to it. Long dark locks, glossy and full, splayed everywhere, a mad disaster in the sea of remorse. Laborious hours had been wasted upon it, attempting to find a shine that would never exist, a sparkle that had disappeared long ago. The subtle rise and fall of her chest, tiny and fragile in appearance, had been her last movement, but now it too had ceased, delving her into the reign of nightmares. Forcing her to wait, her eyes not quite yet glazed over, yet a vacant look dwelt there, reaching down into the pits of her soul. Sunshine would never shine against her face again, never would her narrow lips be illuminated with grace; the girl thought of that with indifference. Nothing mattered to her anymore, as her escape from this tedium would be soon, fleeting, yet satisfactory. _

_Waiting for her captor to come, the girl slowly closed her pale eyelids. There would be no fighting it, something that she had realized to be futile long ago. Everything would have to end sometime, and lying in this blanket of snow, stashed away and hidden completely, from the eyes of each and every mortal, all connections with the world dissolved. The boy waiting for her back home, the little goat that she'd milk each day, the baker who supplied her with bread, and the librarian who welcomed her into her home. The little pond in which tadpoles would bob up to her, causing a treasured smile to grace her features, formerly sun kissed to the extreme. It all felt so meaningless now, so pointless, as she lay still, waiting for the sun to finally set upon her. For the subtle flakes of snow to crush her down, to immobilize her in a way no one else could. _

_Yet as her thoughts finally ceased, her emotions subsiding, and her ideas turning to nothingness, a figure approached the snow laden valley. Draped in black cloth, the man walked forward silently, leaving no footprint in the snow, no trace that could have been used to tell that he was there; all of the evidence was never there. The howling wind made no disturbance, only slightly whipping at his heels, an impossibility in itself. He did not heed nor tarry, continuing on at a slow pace, finally having caught up with his prey. _

_For Death had found her in the end._

That had been inscribed in the cover of Halley's journal. She'd been missing for two weeks now, and if she didn't turn up soon, then the authorities would have presumed her to be dead. It would be likely that they would find that passage, torn out of a book from an old author, titled, "When Death Comes…" they would believe it inspired Halley. That it lead her to end it all, to make our group of four become a group of three; they were all too wrong about that. Instead of facing the possibility of being Reaped, Halley tried to pull off the ultimate trick- to fake her own death. And while it made sense to me, a couple of disturbing jokes had come from it, especially since she spent her time hiding in the alleys, breathing in the tangible woes of the smoggy District. And, if someone else found her, she'd be doing something else too, if you know what I mean…

Yeah, Halley would have hit me for suggesting…er…_certain _activities for her to partake in. Like the time when a kid started doodling on her band folder and she chewed him out for "violating her folder." Gosh, I'd been laughing my head off the entire time…Heck, I was still laughing when Halley kneed me in a sensitive place and yelled at me as well. That's what friends are for though, right? Hitting you with everything they have after a not-so-innocent joke? If that wasn't true, then I suppose I'd have to go back and repeat kindergarten…_again_. Mom wasn't very pleased the first time around, so she'll be sure to have a cow the second time.

"Ready for the Reaping today, sport?" Taylor, my dad, asked as he looked up from his morning paper.

"Can't really be ready for it," I pointed out, snatching a muffin out of a finely cut china plate; we didn't have much of a hard time.

Dad's brown eyes glazed over, continuing to scan over whatever important words were printed there. He'd always been this way, for as long as I could remember, and that just happened to be a rather long time. In fact, I have a perfect memory; from the smallest dust note, to the largest crime, I have a total recall of it. Sometimes, it's rather fun, since I can relive some _interesting _experiences that I've had, but at other times, it's completely horrible. Each Hunger Games is etched into my memory, forcing me to remember everything about those kids, and to know each reason as to why they should have lived. A depressing subject, and one that I don't tend to frequent too much, as it pains me to do so.

I'd rather stick with stealing Halley's boots during lunch.

"Glad you're raring to go, sport," Dad commented, having clearly tuned out my last sentence with the practice ease that he'd gained over the years.

"Yeah, yeah…," I replied, "This is the zenith of my life! Nothing could be more perfect than this!"

Staring towards him, the tiny bit of aspiring hope that he would pick up on my tones of annoyance died out, as if someone had exhorted it to do so. Well, I suppose you could say that my father just did, having a drastic affect on my life by simply being present yet absent. My whole life must have been one big paradox, one big oxymoron, and at sometimes, an extreme hyperbole. Wouldn't my language arts teacher be so proud of me? I can picture the one I had years ago, Mr. Letchings, who would frequently drone on and on, his sallow complexion picking up an even worse pigment with each tick of the clock. Like a vulture, he'd insisted on calling us into class, even on Reaping day, and took bets on which one of us would kick the bucket.

He'd been mugged a week later, and consequently, was too frightened to even come back to teach. Jilly-Jen, the leader of the crew, hadn't even been arrested, a magnanimous decision that the Head Peacekeeper made on the fly. Queer, isn't it? Probably had something to do with the fact that Jilly-Jean was her great-niece, but of course, she _certainly_ wouldn't be playing favorites. Especially after the old Head Peacekeeper was executed for showing tears when Abe became a million little pieces last year; some people never do learn, I suppose.

"What was that you said, sport?" Dad asked, using the same sentence structure that he always did.

"Nothing, nothing…," I rambled, sighing out of utter depression, "Just like always. Thanks for, you know, always paying attention to me…I bet you wouldn't even hear the strangest things…Pies are square. The cow is a goose. Halley is my wife. Toast bounces like an astronaut."

And a father ignores his own son, completely and utterly, as the daily news from his torturers is more entertaining than his pride and joy. Just _great_.

_Natalie McDoe (17), District Eight Female-POV_

Hiding under the quilt blanket, the only indicator of time is the dull ticking of the tremendous grandfather clock. The only source of light in the dark mahogany room is a tiny flashlight, its bulb taking its final breath before heading into the great beyond. When they built this house, they removed all windows, finding them too dangerous to be left to the use of the occupants. A wooden prison, that's the cage that had been constructed, and yet, all senses of security in it had vanished, or more likely, had never been there. Still, it provided a little place of clean air, a small shelter from the smoggy factory air, and the sullen faces that lingered about.

Illuminated by the tiny bulb, the bland shades of red and blue gain a certain sparkle, as if the intensity of the sun is behind them. I wish I could have been able to know what that was like, to see the sun properly, and to bask in its undying grace. However, according to the one scientist in our District, who barely makes by on his meager salary, it is already far too late for us. There's too much CO2 floating around, creating the perilous gray smog to envelope us all, ruining the lungs of us all, even a child so small and so full of hope.

A child that I might have been one day, before I became the younger sister of a Victor. I didn't really know who I was, which happened to be my very worse fear, the reason that held me glued into place under the thick quilt. Ever since that day when I was nine years old, when Gelle came back from the arena, I felt like I had died. I didn't have a personality, I didn't have a voice, either, and it was horrible. Sometimes, I feel a brief flickering of true feeling, as if I have an idea of where I am supposed to belong, but they are few and far between.

Underneath the covers next to me, sat a leather bound book. It was made in celebration of the very first ever Hunger Games, published by some enthusiastic Capitol citizen. The illustrations were beautiful, even if the writing felt rushed to me, too fast and without an interest in keeping at a steady pace. There was only one page in this beautiful book, one choppy page, and yet it spoke miles; it spoke of the roots of our tormentors. The people that desperately wanted to see me enter the arena, just because of something that Gelle, no, a Victor, had done…

I began to read, opening up the book, done completely in calligraphy, "_Amelia turned around suddenly, gasping with surprise as she saw the face of her lover. Torn up with scrapes, blood oozed out of every pore, causing the young Tribute to despair. Glistening tears fell down Amelia's face, going into the delicate blonde braid, the very one that she had worn during her Chariot Ride. Could she have ever known this was going to happen? Could she have escaped the perilous reaping, and never see her Romeo in such torture. _

"_A crystalline sky stared down at the two of them, telling them of the sacrifice that they must make for the sake of their country. Each of them believed it to be right, to be their duty, no matter how much they wished they could have been another way. For Tributes are bred, not born; they exist in such mentality, knowing that they will probably escape their fate. Yet that conflict had not been deflected, and for their bravery, the people of the Capitol would applaud them. They would mark the sacrifice with white roses, as a symbol of their purity."_

Silence rang, as I stared at the last sentence, not allowing it to fall from my lips. The rest of it had been torn out, an epilogue about Amelia that I never did receive the chance to read. Not that I minded, as the antics of Puck were much more enjoyable, than the agonizing screams of children. Screams that I would cause in a heartbeat, having been training for the inevitable, that I would be Reaped as punishment for Gelle's crime.

If there's one thing a Victor doesn't do, it's insult the Capitol. And what did Gelle do? Just that, putting my life, our father's life, and her own in grave danger. They already demanded for her to supply certain services, forcing her to bottle herself up into a mask, only being the intelligent and skilled girl I knew she was around people she could trust. If only there could have been some way for me to help her…

* * *

"And now, let's welcome to the stage our two Victors who will be Mentoring, the lovely ladies Gelle McDoe and Dexie Laurel!" Cosma Dae announced daintily, smiling superficially out into the crowd, feeling enormous amounts of fain for her Tributes to be chosen already.

Wearing some bulky getup, everyone stared at the lady will sullen faces, their sallow skin practically hanging off of their bodies. Standing over to the side, separated from the seventeen year old girls, with my best friend off chatting with her adopted sister, I couldn't help but feel a bit out of place. There was not a single spot on my body that hung the way that theirs did, not a single bit of marred skin to suggest that I had been subjected to the horrors of the factory. The two handsome boys next to me, twin sons of the only other District Eight Victor, who was seldom talked about in his pedophilic old age, also displayed small signs of discomfort. I'd never even bothered to learn their names, though I think that they begun with a J, even if it was a one out of twenty-six chance that I would be correct on just one of them.

"Thank you, Miss Dae," Gelle murmured, making the sweet face that made me sick to my stomach; that wasn't my sister, "It is such a pleasure to be here once again…I will do my best to be a guardian angel once more, to aid our illustrious Capitol."

My sister would never talk like that. The fabrication that stood on the stage, wearing her brunette hair with a sickening stare, could have never been her. Gelle, the Victor, and Gelle, my sister, were complete polar opposites. If only other people could have known that but…I suppose that's life, isn't it? A horrible joke, no doubt, derived from a common Capitol phrase to make the Hunger Games excusable. Somehow, they had been able to perform the impossible; I envied them for that ability. They would be able to do things that I could never dream of…

Dexie Laurel sent me a warning look, as if my pleasantly amused mask had begun to slip for a moment. She barely knew the real me, something that I could have been angered for, if I had known what I was like myself. Insecurity seemed to define me as much as my sister, I had noticed as of late. Even the red Grecian dress, making me appear to be something desirable, was able to attach no labels that rung with an ounce of truth to me.

"I'm sure you will, Gelle," Cosma agreed, before waiving Gelle to stand next to Dexie and Alazar.

The tiny speeches go by in a flash, as well as the video of presentation. A part of me enjoyed the blood, the guts, and the gore; a part that I'm ashamed of as soon as I realize it. I'm the type of person that will do things without thinking them through, which would be a blessing and a curse in the arena. Like they'd have the nerve to Reap me again anyways, after that girl Volunteered for me when I was twelve; they're all a bunch of cowards.

"And now, for the young lady," Cosma stated cleanly, her lips somehow remaining pursed, "…Natalie McDoe!"

Gelle's smile vanishes for a split second, yet returns a moment later. That's the only thing that I need to get me out of my shock, to allow my brain to process that they rigged the Reaping bowl again. What were they scared of anyways? People not liking them because Gelle mouthed off a bit in front of some silly reporters? Ha! I snorted, laughing as I walked up towards the stage, giggling the entire time with confidence. There's no way that those silly people could have done this, and I certainly must be dreaming. Cosma, however, quirks her eyebrow as if worried about my sanity; like she would ever care about someone other than herself. Certainly not the person that would be Reaped a minute or two after me. I bet the people in the Capitol probably think my laughter is bravery, but whatever; I already don't care. This isn't real; just a silly dream that came out of my head.

"Ah, well…Do stop laughing, would you?" Cosma asked, reaching her hand into the other glass bowl, "Jaspe Hallindale!"

Slowly, a cute blonde boy with trembling hands made his way forward. There was a grin on his face, as if he was happy to be chosen, but I doubted it already. He was one dimensional to me; something that I didn't even need to keep on my radar. It almost made me wonder what I looked like to him…Almost.

"Shake hands, you two!" Cosma prompted, in her overly cheery voice.

_ And so, Amelia killed her Romeo. _

* * *

Sorry for not updating in a while! Things got really busy, as I'm learning a new language, preparing for a major test, and taking a bunch of other major tests. I'll be brief, as to not bore you. Hopefully, District Nine will be up next week, as I'm going to have to slow down my update schedule again...I know, I know, it sucks. Oh well, it's better than nothing! Remember to vote and tell me what you thought of the chapter!

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	10. District Nine Reaping

_Ivy Montina (15), District Nine Female-POV_

There are monsters under my bed. I'm fifteen years old and the smallest shadow sends a chill up my spine, an omen of darker times to come. Candlelight dances all around me, the sweetest cinnamon smell reminding me of poison whilst under the shade; a tiny quilt is my only protection. Flickering forms appear on the wall, turning from one impossible thing to the next, until _they _come to taunt me. Whispering voices, honey and crystals at the same time, have driven me further and further under the covers.

What are they? I think they're gods, sent down to punish me for some wrong a distant ancestor had done. There are some stories that I've read, written down on tiny books, which I've found over the years. Not like I was supposed to anyways, but the more I read them, the more I found an alarming truth in them. Over and over again, they reminded me of Mack and Lara, the banes of my pitiful existence. What I've found, is that with each culture they gain a new set of names, a new pair of faces, and new people to torture. Disturbingly, I've learned that they aren't the only ones…

Twelve of them are incredibly strong, with millions of hundreds of thousands of other ones that do their bidding. They called Lara an odd name, Hera; and they had dubbed the name Ares upon Mack. Elegant and fierce, the two of them leave terrible monsters in the form of shadows, to remind me of what they could do if I do not appease them. If I don't resist the medication that my father- a celebrated doctor and owner of the tiny District hospital- continues to provide for me day and night.

Well, what they would do if I'm acting the way that I am right now. Did I mention that I can be brave sometimes? Probably not, as I don't think too much about myself. Lara says that a proper lady doesn't think that way, and if I want any chance of getting a husband, I ought to do what she says. But I don't have any interest in that, and I would mumble that to her if it was not for Mack; he punishes me in the night. And in the morning, all of the bruises, cuts, and scars are gone as if by a magic spell; the equivalent of Hecate is probably behind it, I concluded.

"Ivy, sweetheart!" a bass voice called out, probably from downstairs from the slight echoing sound of it, "We've got to get ready for the Reaping! Wouldn't want to be late, now would we?"

Gulping, I couldn't make my voice croak out a reply. Mack might be watching; I don't want him to know that I'm awake and use me for target practice again. Blood…Sliver…Pain…Agony…I don't want to go through it again, to feel the hot sticky tears on my face…Drat, they're there; I know that they are. I…I can feel them, so they're real!

_"Oh, dear…"_ a soothing voice murmured, as if it had found the cat misusing the litter box, _"She's shaking again. Poor thing…"_

Was I shaking? I wasn't shaking…I couldn't be shaking! I would have known, wouldn't I? Sane people know that they're shaking; sane people that please…that please the gods. I'd failed again, hadn't I? Ugh, this really is horrible news to me, probably bad enough that I'll be killed instantly. Then I'll be Hades problem; would Thanatos come to collect me? Probably not, knowing Lara and her issues…But I don't know if I want to die. Knowing Mack, he'd probably make it hurt; I'd have had enough pain in my fifteen years, more than anyone else should be able to know.

A three headed dog appears on the wall, causing me to pull the soft blanket further over my head, my quivering tan hands feeling a chill all of their own. Even my cells knew to be scared, to know that every little atom could be torn apart by Lara and Mack; the latter had even threatened to do so on several occasions. I shivered, the clammy feeling of my hands going to each part of my body; Dad would have called it _diffusion_, a fancy word they use in science classes. I never took a science class; Lara demanded that I never attend school, and who was I to say no?

_"Whatever, the little wimp is no match for us anyways. I say we just kill her now! …Stupid waste of space, she is!" _a scornful voice, rough and ragged, added in reply to Lara. Mack was here; my day just became horrible. As if I had any hope for a good time, too.

_"No, no!" _Lara stammered, her voice managing to sound stern, shocked, and beautiful all at once, _"We shall do no such thing! Manners, Mack!" _

An insane little giggle escaped from my mouth, causing me to freeze in horror. Making a sound was practically an invitation for them, as strong a one as the time Mack made me burn my hamburger for him; Dad wasn't too pleased with that, and gave me another dose of that bitter medicine. I used to like it, too, until Mack beat me until I agreed with him; he hated grapes. I used to like them, but not after he found out; he's forcing me into a mold, almost. A mold that I have no choice but to go into…

_"Oh, good, darling!" _Lara greeted, causing the covers to blow off of my bed.

Dad would have said it was just the wind. But my eyes aren't lying to me; I know what I see is true. There's no way that it couldn't be…No way at all. Lara's billowing white dress is real, Mack's tight leather suit is real, and the three headed dog on the wall is real. If anything is fake, it's me; I couldn't possibly be alive right now. The gods should have killed me long ago, instead of visiting me all day and night.

Why do they hate me?

Lara continued, her jewel eyes that keep switching shades- blue, purple, green, pink- as she glanced me over, _"You ought to have been dressed hours ago! A proper lady is not late for social gatherings! Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable!" _

"I…I….," I stuttered, showing off my understanding of the human language. Yeah, I'd never be some sort of speaker like you see on TV, "I…Sorry…"

Yeah, from all of the zero lessons I've had, my strongest thing ever is finishing a sentence lamely. Lara picks on me about it, though sometimes she merely gives me a look; like she is right now. You'd think I was a dog if you didn't know any better, believe it or not. Especially if you saw the one time Mack dragged me into a pet store, and forced me to bark at the owner; I'm still laughed at for that. Got rid of my last friend, too; but I blame Zeus for that, because Mack made me. Only he doesn't let me know what Zeus' new name is; probably because it's cooler than his or something like that. They can be so petty sometimes, but I'd end up in Hades the hard way if I ever tried to tell Mack that…Or Lara for that matter.

_"Just sorry?" _Lara sniffled, as if I'd physically hurt her. Which of course, you couldn't do; I know, I've tried. _"Your lack of social skills is quite appalling, Ivy! I ought to punish-"_

_ "Yes! Let's punish!" _Mack agreed, grinning and revealing chipped teeth without a single speck of yellow on him; he's quite an enigma.

I cringed, not out of terror, but more of a learned reaction. I'd figured out that being helpless was the best option for me, as the only escape from my prison was within the sweetness of medicine. It's much better to just remain inside of my cage, locked inside of the metal walls, until the kind warden would let me out. Lift the weights off of my wings, and allow me to soar….Unfortunately, that had never happened to me, not even in my dreams; Mack had made sure of that.

Lara rolled her eyes, which changed colored like a kaleidoscope; she was easily annoyed with Mack. And me, for that matter; she treated us like her children, too weak to comprehend anything that she said. Of course, it wasn't as if she could be harmed by Mack; I had tried a thousand times to prove it. Yet as if she was sensing my thoughts, the tiny backbone that sparked inside of me, Lara turned her gaze towards me coldly.

_"Do what you wish, Mack," _she stated softly, _"For there is no better prison than the mind itself…"_

_Emyrus Lapworth (13), District Nine Male-POV_

Ebon was still at the Capital.

That's the first thing that I thought, climbing out of bed, admiring all of the fuzzy pillows and blankets. A rich lady, named Carria, had adopted me just the day before. I expected that Ebon would have liked her; I liked the smell of her hair. She didn't smell yucky, like most old people I knew; I never really liked old people.

Instead, she gave me incredible toys! The most expensive dinosaurs that you could have imagined! They have the grandest texture, rough in the correct places, with the most smoothest underbellies that I had ever seen. I loved my toys so much; I'd never let anything hurt them. Ebon would have liked them too, I think…If he didn't leave me for the silly people in the Capitol. They weren't anywhere near as pretty as Carria, who had lost all of her children in some war. I didn't know what a war was; I just knew it didn't sound like fun.

She'd been getting me an education, but I still had to have my servant help me sometimes. I had a servant; it was really weird. But she was very nice, and her name was Clara. She had beautiful crimson curls, that cascaded down her back, and delightful rosy cheeks. I didn't know much, but Carria said I could marry Clara if I wanted to one day; that would be swell. Unlike Ebon, I liked pretty girls—Clara has taught me so much, and said I was held back. That I should have been acting more mature by now….She's only two years older than me, but according to one of Carria's manly friends, I act like I'm six years old.

Do only six year olds get to have fun?

"Emmy, you have to get dressed!" Clara's voice yelled out—it sounded like honeysuckle.

I didn't even know what that was. But I knew that was what it sounded like. Clara was dressed in a long purple dress, hugging her curves in the right places, her makeup perfectly applied; I asked Carria to dress her for me. I wanted Clara to feel beautiful; I think I loved her. I love her as much as I love my dinosaur toys; I love my dinosaur toys.

"Yes, Miss Clines!" I shouted out, trying to avoid a cracking voice—I didn't work though.

I must have sounded like a mouse. Did Clara like mice? I wasn't sure, but I hope that she did; I thought they were cute and adorable. But still, her voice called out again, telling me to hurry up and get ready. Maybe the Reaping thingy really was important; all I knew is that Ebon left me because of it. He never came back to play with me, even though he promised…

The night when the pretty blonde lady—Maya—came to visit us, I chucked his rock in the pond. The fishies needed him more than I did; I had my dinosaurs. And Clara; I didn't need Ebon anymore. No matter what the doctors told me, I knew I didn't need him—I'm a big boy now. I'm grown up, and I'm going to marry Clara; I didn't need some stupid rock that Ebon, the jerk, gave to me. He made me feel bad inside, so much that I almost yelled at Carria once; I didn't like feeling bad.

Clara's voice rang out a third time, letting me know that I really had to get going. I quickly pulled on a pair of blue things—they were called genies, I think—and a button up shirt. It was Ebon's, but Clara insisted that I wore it; I didn't want Clara to be mad at me. I hated it when people were mad at me, because then they might go and leave me for the Capital too. I didn't want to be lonely…And for some reason, I felt scared too; as if something bad was going to happen today. I didn't know why…

"Ready, Miss Clines!" I cheered, wincing when my voice cracked once again, and running out into the hall.

Clara nodded at me sharply, before opening the grand oak door, little mosaic tiles replacing what could have been a window to look out of. Carria liked to keep her home classy; I noticed that very quickly. I guess she wanted me to be classy too, but I had a feeling that I wasn't trying hard enough for her. I really was, though! Clara might have thought so too, but I don't think she did; pretty people think nice things.

The President of Panem must be ugly then.

"Good, good," Clara sighed, causing my face to turn red as she grabbed my hand, "We don't want to be late…It would be a rather unfortunate consequence, which I don't wish to explore today."

Maybe Clara thought something bad would happen too?

"At least, Miss Carria doesn't live all too far from the square…," Clara paused, "Right...Well, I'm sorry to say this Emmy."

"To say what?" I questioned, accidently letting a snot bubble out of my nose.

She tucked a lock of gorgeous auburn hair behind her ear, as a wild wind struck up out of nowhere. For some reason, there was a look of nervousness and anxiousness upon her, as we began to walk more briskly. One of my dinosaur toys clattered onto the pavement, but she didn't even let me stop for it…It must have been urgent.

"What, Clwara?" I asked again, right when she rushed me towards a table, "Is something bad going to happen?"

"No, no…Just do whatever they tell you to do," Clara called out, as she herself approached another lady at a table.

This was so weird; I didn't understand what was going on. All I knew was that some lady wanted my blood; she must have been a vampire then. I didn't think we were supposed to let vampires have our blood…But Clara said to do as they said, so I let her. She didn't even bite me; maybe she had a tooth ache? Do vampires even get tooth aches? They would have to eat too much ice cream. Carria didn't let me eat ice cream, because they had to put a spiny thing on my tooth; that didn't feel good.

"Go to your pen!" the lady snapped, shoving me abruptly forward; I couldn't see Clara anywhere!

I started to get nervous, until I saw a really funny person step out in front of a microphone. I couldn't tell if they were a girl or a boy; they looked like an it. An it that wore fluffy pink dress, with spiked green hair; that made less sense than nonsense. Ebon probably would have known….He was always the one knowing everything, like that they showed bloody movies on the television, and so it was okay to just play with toys.

But eventually, the it stepped over to a glass ball. There were lots of little slips in there; the it must have really liked slips. They shuffled their hand through it, cackling quietly like the older kids in the orphanage did when they had a stick in their mouth; I didn't understand what was so fun about that. Ebon said they were pretending to be wizards, but I wasn't sure…Oh well, Ebon's not going to be able to help me now. I could ask Clara later, though. Clara knew everything; she was prettier than Ebon and smarter than him, too.

"Ivy Montina!" the it called out, which caused a girl to instantly burst out into tears.

I wanted to go give her a big hug, as she was shaking in her spot. No one was helping her, and a couple of them shoved her forward; Clara would help her though, I'm sure! Clara was the nicest person ever…But this Ivy girl was pretty, too, with dark hair, and a light white dress. She had a hair band, too; Clara liked to wear hair bands. I kept waiting for Clara to go give the girl a hug, but I couldn't find her anywhere; the girl was standing on the stage, too. It shouldn't have been too hard for her to be seen.

Why wasn't Clara helping?

"And now….Emyrus Lapworth!" It called out, as I was instantly jostled forward.

I stumbled over my own legs, hitting the asphalt painfully. Numbly, I was able to recall a couple of people snickering at me; and a breeze from down bellow. Clara must have been so embarrassed, I thought, as I pulled my pants up. I knew I should have worn a belt, I thought, as I hopped up to the stage; I couldn't let them continue to keep on jeering at me.

Standing next to Ivy, tears continued to stream down her face, as the It started speaking again. I couldn't make out what they were saying, as the voice was too accented. I would have had better luck with my dinosaurs; if I would get to see them again. This must have been the bad thing I was thinking about; I'd have to see Ebon again. He was just going to make sure that I felt even worse…

Yet eventually, my eyes found Clara, standing boldly in the front wore. She wore a grim expression on her face, as if she knew something that I didn't; I hated secrets. I opened my mouth to shout out to her, when instead, Clara said something to me.

"I'm sorry, Emmy, but you're going to die."

* * *

Well, I do believe I owe you all an apology. I was so caught up with everything, including NaNoWriMo-which I finished a day early-that I didn't find any time to write this. While I do not promise an update soon, I should be able to make one. Christmas break starts on Wednesday, after all, and I've been looking forward to it. I also would like to apologize for the creator of Emmy, for changing him a lot; I thought he'd be more interesting this way, instead of a carbon copy of Ebon. Anyways, I'm very sorry for not updating. I do intend to finish this story eventually, however~ To make up for it, you can vote for six Tributes this time, instead of the normal four.

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	11. District Ten Reaping

_Amya Kessim (16), District Ten Female-POV_

It was a quiet day, full of so many things that I couldn't explain, that I couldn't pinpoint to any type of reality. So many things were going wrong, as we waded through an ocean of solitude, of quiet; the silver painted clouds drifted by aimlessly. Bellows of strange beasts quivered through the air, followed by the sound of the guns; the sound of death, finally achieving victory. The destined winner, always beating its opponent; the Capitol loved to watch him fight. They loved to watch Death tare through the ranks, crumbling all but the last, out of twisted pity.

Of course, the end of the world comes slowly. It's not going to scream at you that it's there, no, it's going to creep up on you. It will be here when you're born, that way you can look it in the eye, yet think that it will do nothing to you. It will allow you to believe that you are immortal, all the way up to the fall. This is the price of our stupidity, in which the hearty Capitol gladly inflicts upon us; we are helpless. Even I, I am under the illusion that I can do something, that I can make a difference, that the terrible glass balls aren't rigged as they said.

I thought that I wouldn't have to be the mountain goat; that I could become the mountain lion.

"Mountain Goat!" Callista, my older sister cried, as she teetered in on high heels, "One of the sheep is escaping! Please go get them? _Please?_"

Her dark brown hair was as straight as a twig, something not too common in District Ten. Most people here had curly hair, just like our Tributes from last year; the little maniac that we thought might have won. Really, I couldn't help but have been one of the people that screamed when Wednesday let go of that ladder rung. When she fell to her death, smiling as she went…It was completely insane; we could have one! Wednesday could have lived, she could have been happy! Yet instead she sentenced herself to Death's hands…

I sighed, looking into the calm gray eyes of Callista, "Can't you do it? I mean, the Reaping starts soon…I couldn't afford to be late."

"You know how my running is," she replied, biting down on her lip nervously, "And I'm sure you'll have plenty of time. It's not like you'll be picked, anyways—we don't need much tesserae."

Well, I suppose she did have a point there. When Callista was twelve years old, in attendance at her first Reaping, the female Tribute freaked out. Somehow, the girl managed to grab one of the clubs that the Peacekeepers use, and bash Callista's leg in with it. Not only did my sister's bones shatter from the unexpected attack, it ripped her muscle completely in half; the Capitol only paid for an artificial leg to be made because it was caught on live television. They didn't want their citizens sending pity money towards District Ten as a result of it; they hated pity.

It had held out pretty well, but ever since that day when I was nine, I was the one that had to run to chase the sheep. To keep them from escaping our District, ruining our bank accounts forever. We couldn't afford to displease the Capitol; they were the main buyers of our wool. The only people that would eat the lamb chops, no matter what, as everyone here seemed to have work animals on them. I guess that's why we were called the livestock District; it wasn't as profitable as people had thought it would be. Especially with that creepy cousin of Wednesday running around in the shadows, wearing an eye patch to cover some sort of gruesome injury; the fourteen year old scared me half to death.

"All right…," I sighed, resigning to Callista's pleads, "I'll do it. Can't you make your fiancé do it next time? He's going to be living here anyways."

"Right," Callista nodded, before quickly exiting my room, "Don't worry about finding a dress—you can wear something of mine. It'll be waiting on your bed for you."

It was still thundering outside, rain pouring down, as I eased the squeaky window open. Sure, it probably wasn't the safest thing to do; just like the time that I had to try and get one of our sheep from wandering into a wolf's den. That hadn't been a pretty sight—they'd put eleven stitches on my arm in total, all coming out of our own pocketbook. There's still a faint scar running down the tanned skin, in a jagged line like a lightning bolt. Apparently, that was really cool according to the nerdy kids in the District; I never really read old novels, so I didn't quite understand them…

I hoisted myself out of the window, wincing only slightly when the frame crashed against the side of the house; luckily, the glass remained intact. I was barely able to say the same for my face, as my now white knuckles were keeping a death grip on the window. Biting my lip, I waited a couple of moments to recollect myself, before bracing for the ten foot drop to the ground—I was on the second story of my home. I couldn't start letting myself get hurt, especially on Reaping Day; the day in which the Capitol would pick one of us to die. I knew some things about medicine, but they were mainly for sheep; not humans, which didn't help my situation much.

Taking a deep breath, I tried not to think of the dying face of Wednesday Vespers as I allowed myself to drop. The wind whistled by my ear, as I braced my feet, trying to think of anything. Trying to think about how one time, my name was pulled from the Reaping Bowl, but someone Volunteered. I tried to think about Kivi and Gaelle, my best friends, who were almost polar opposites of each other. I tried to think about how I might die today, how this might be the end of my world; I thought of anything but Wednesday.

As soon as my feet hit the ground, causing the force to disperse through them, that's when I heard the scream. A high pitched shriek of desperation, which most certainly could not have been the wind, or nor could it have been one of my sheep. Only a human made sounds like that—a human _girl_, too. People in the Hunger Games sounded like that, I realized with fear, as my feet started sprinting forward of their own accord. Something told me that I knew that person, and even if I didn't, they would need my help. I wasn't a mean person; I was fairly kind, and would possibly be able to help.

Unless one of the large poplar trees had fallen down upon them—there wasn't much that I could do about that.

The field was littered with dying grass, as I grew closer and closer to the shrieks. A prominent odor—the stench of blood—filled my nostrils as I came into the sight of the victim. They were bleeding profusely, covered in layer upon layer of bright scarlet; oxygenated blood. It clung to their hair, which I could barely tell was a rich chocolate brown color…

_Gaelle had brown hair…_

"Take me now, Death, please!" the person shrieked, their wide turquoise eyes suddenly flashing open, with recognition that a human soul was present, "Please!"

_Gaelle had blue eyes…_

She fell limp suddenly, crystalline drops of water mixing in with her blood. It caused swirls to trace patterns down her, showing where something had bitten; something large and powerful, from the way that it tore apart the skin. I stared forward, numb with horror, as I realized that it was exactly who I thought it was.

Gaelle was dead.

_Jango Trian (18), District Ten Male-POV _

Most people would wake up to a healthy family, a little bit malnourished, but otherwise, perfectly fine. They didn't have to take shifts on who would have the sleepless night, the one that would have to be ready to sprint down to the tiny hospital, in hopes that they wouldn't be too late. None of them had to worry that the illness would suddenly spread, crippling another member of the family—especially if it was one of the bread earners. They didn't have those problems; they had much easier challenges to face.

And naturally, my family didn't happen to be most people. The youngest family member, Lenny, was only three years old and fated to die…At least, that's what the doctors had told us; I didn't want to believe them. I didn't want to live knowing that my brother couldn't—somehow, there had to be a way that I could save him! That I would be able to run with Lenny, joke around him just like old times, and not have to look at him, seeing a countdown to his final moments written all across his face…It just wasn't fair. Sure, the world may be cruel, but that doesn't mean it has to get any crueler.

"What's going to happen today?" Joey, my twelve year old brother asked nervously.

Unlike the rest of us, who all had dark blonde hair, Joey's was platinum, almost white. It stood up in odd angles, looking like he could have been the child of someone like Einstien; he had the brains for it, too. His blue eyes always seemed to be studying something, yet with an aura of innocence about them; I'd made sure that he wouldn't have to see all of the horrors of the world just yet. Not when I was around; that's what big brothers are for. Yet, I wasn't going to let him be as clueless as the boy from District Nine last year—that would be doing more harm than good.

I paused, trying to put this lightly. I didn't know how I could tell Joey that because both him and I had taken tesserae out, in order to save more money for Lenny to go get the care he needed—our father had died long ago—that we would be more likely to be Reaped. But I knew that Joey wouldn't be the Tribute coming from District Ten this year; it was going to be me. I had a plan, one that would have to work; I had confidence in it, complete and utter confidence.

"Well, all of the pretty girls are going to be in their dresses," I began, smiling at my brother, "And all of us men are going to be in our finery, too. They'll put us all together, in pens, and choose one person to head off to the Hunger Games."

Joey gulped, his wide eyes watering, "What if they pick me, Jango? What if I have to go off to the Capitol?"

Trying to be reassuring, I grasped Joey's hand firmly, trying to ignore how pale he was in comparison to me. The doctors said it was because somehow, Joey ended up being an albino, but I wasn't all too sure. I just wanted to make sure that my family would be safe; they were all I had, and one day, I'm going to add my girlfriend, Lily, to the group. That way I can have all of my loved ones with me—so I wouldn't ever have to let them go.

"They're not going to pick you, Joey…See, I have a little secret," I lowered my voice to a whisper, "I already know who is going to be picked."

"You do?" Joey gasped, letting his spoon drop into his bowl with a loud clunk, "How?! That's top secret information!"

I shrugged at Joey, trying to look macho—to look tough and cool. It seemed to keep Joey fine, as he resumed wolfing down his food; that boy loved to eat. It was probably best that he didn't question me either, as Mom was tending to Lenny from across the room. I don't think that she would have been able to take the news, no matter how well thought out this was. It was my last chance to execute this plan, too, and I think that Dad would have wanted me to do it. I couldn't be sure, though, as he died…

They might not be able to take the news that I would be going into the Hunger Games.

* * *

"Well, that was a delightful video, wasn't it?" Zilicia Springs, our overexcited Escort announced cheerfully.

Joey was standing in the very back, with the other twelve year olds, and looked to be on the verge of tears. I was the same way; I couldn't stand watching things like that, involving so much blood and violence. Some might have found my plan to be ironic in this case, but I really didn't care—I was doing this for Lenny. His survival was more important than my emotional comfort, and I was the only one that would be able to do this. I stood tall, over six feet, with facial hair already making my chin a rough surface. Sandy blonde hair was cropped shirt, almost in a buzz cut, and my pale blue eyes, I've been told, were very intimidating.

Not exactly what people would think that I, am generally squeamish person who loved kids, could ever look like. Heck, I found that I appeared to be more of a father, than an older brother; I was old enough to be one, as well.

No one clapped or agreed with Zilicia, apart from a couple of drunks standing off to the side who weren't able to care anymore. It was scary that one day, I could become like them; someone who had felt so much pain that they just laughed. That's part of the reason that I'm glad I met Lily—I'd never known anyone sweeter than her, someone who could have been more caring and kind. She'd make sure that never happened to me, no matter what happened to me today in the arena. It was all for Lenny—I had to keep that in my mind, thinking of the sickly form of my three year old brother, who couldn't even find the strength to talk.

"Anyways, let's get this show on the road!" Zilicia cheered, quickly scooping a piece of paper out of the girls Reaping Bowl, "The lucky young lady representing District Ten in the One Hundred and Seventy Sixth Hunger Games is…Amya Kessim!"

I let out a sigh of relief, spotting the blonde form of Lily, safe from the Hunger Games. I didn't know who Amya was, but when she stepped out from the crowd, there were tear tracks running down her face. She had long brown hair, a bit messed up, probably from the giant wind storm that happened this morning. Her soft eyes looked angered, as something scarlet was ruining the edge of her green shirt. It looked sickly like blood…

Zilicia grinned sheepishly at Amya, steering her to one side of the stage, her pink curls bouncing from the very movement. It must have been a wig; a wig that probably cost the same amount of money as the cure for Lenny. I clenched my fists in agitation, knowing that this would be the moment, that the inane chatter coming out of the Escort's mouth would decide what happened today. But no, I wasn't going to allow that to happen, I was going to take destiny into my own hands.

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

* * *

**Well, I hope you enjoyed that chapter! I managed to stick closely to the original Tributes I had in mind, which I'm rather proud of myself for. I actually enjoyed writing for Joey the most, as he reminded me of a Luna Lovegood/Prim Everdeen sort of person. Did you all like him? Tell me what you think, because if I do attempt a third SYOT, he's definetly going to be mentioned again!  
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**Thank you for all of the kind reviews! We're almost at the end of the Reapings, so please go check out a poll on my profile that will be up in a moment. It's going to decide something for the structure of the remainder of the story, and I'm sure that you all would love to have some input in it! I will try to have another chapter up soon, but once again, I am making no promises on that.  
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**Thank you once again, and have a Merry Christmas!  
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	12. District Eleven Reaping

_Lotus Hakoda (15), District Eleven Male-POV_

If there was ever one person in the world that I thought to be beautiful, it was Kaia. She was my little sister, after all, and she was all that I had. Who else could I find pretty? One of the District tramps? No, I hadn't even looked at a woman that way, knowing that it would just distract me. That it would only serve to bring me down, when I needed to be more concerned about finding food. About surviving, and making sure that Kaia would be okay.

That was my duty, to be the man of the house, ever since Dad left. I don't know why he chose to leave, if it had been off of his own free will, or the threat of execution. It wasn't exactly common knowledge that we were hunters, so I feared that it was the first. I could still remember that day, when he told me I'd have to be strong, right before bed. The next morning, when I woke up, Kaia and I were alone in the house; I'd been seven years old.

It wasn't like Mom was around either; she'd been killed by a Peacekeeper. They thought that Kaia had gotten out of the Reaping, by some mistaken number in their calculations. Even though they saw that Kaia was only four years old—I was five at the time—they told Mom that someone was going to have to die. They dragged her off into the darkness, leaving my sister and I crying; I don't remember where Dad was. It wasn't like he could have done much, either…

So at the age of seven, I practically became an orphan, with the soul task of looking over Kaia. The scariest thing is that I couldn't protect her from the Reaping bowl, no matter how much I tried. Boomerang wasn't going to be able to knock the slip out of the Escort's hand, send it flying back to me; it just couldn't be done. The Capitol were cruel people, enjoying watching us laugh. I'm sure they have spies everywhere, too, waiting for the moment when I let my guard down. The moment that they catch me and Kaia sneaking back into the District, after some time spent hunting out in the woods.

Yet as long as I was still breathing, I would do my best to honor my father's wishes. It's all that I had left of him, that and the stories that some of his friends would tell on occasion. However, they too started to slowly vanish, almost fading out of existence in one blow, which couldn't have been an accident. I suspected the hand of the Capitol on numerous occasions, which is why I've been encouraging Kaia to learn how to defend herself. So far, she's mastered the arts of yelling and splashing people with water.

Now, if she had a bat of acid, it might actually be a bit effective.

"Hakoda!" Kaia's excited voice cried out, "I told you, the Reaping is going to start in an hour! And you're _still _not ready! Urggh! You men are all the same!"

Yes, that was the sound of a grateful sister. I sighed, picking up my beloved boomerang, before walking out of my tiny section of our hut. Really, the only thing that served as a wall was our mother's wedding dress—it had long since lost its white color. Kaia was the one in charge of washing, but claimed that it wasn't going to get any whiter—I didn't understand things like that. All I needed to know was how to get us some meat; I didn't eat anything but cute little animals.

"Nag, nag, nag!" I muttered, pushing the wedding dress aside, "_I'm _the one in charge, yet you act like my mother!"

"Well, someone clearly has to!" Kaia scolded, throwing a dirty sock in my face, "And you can do your own laundry, if you feel like being _in charge_!"

I blinked, watching as the smelly piece of clothing fell to the floor. Did my feet really smell that bad…? Breathing in deeply through my nostrils, I almost turned a faint shade of green, realizing that _yes_, it was that bad. I'd never smelled such a portent odor in my life. Maybe this is why Kaia complains so much about doing the laundry; she must have lost some of her smelling abilities by now…

"No way!" I shot back, wrinkling my nose in an attempt to forget the smell, "Look, Kaia, Dad put _me_ in charge of protecting you! I can't do that if you're off waltzing through the District at all hours!"

"Who says I need someone to protect me?!" Kaia shouted, her brown eyes narrowing in fury, as her long braid whipped almost in a deadly manner with her head, "Last I recalled, it was _you _who got stuck in that crack! And who had to get you out? _Me!_ Even Abby could have done it!"

All right…She may have had a slight point there. But in my defense, I was trying to get us some meat, and I spotted her favorite kind. A lone little baby moose, somehow wandering the outskirts of District Eleven; that didn't happen all too often. Really, I was practically obligated to pounce on it, using my clever boomerang as I did so. It had been a bit embarrassing, waiting for Kaia to come and find me…

But hey, I got the moose! That's all that mattered!

"Abby so could not have!" I scoffed, "She's practically a toothpick! I honestly agree with her parents—she shouldn't be let out of the house!"

Kaia gasped, marching forward, while giving me her trademarked glare. Putting a thing tanned finger on my chest, she pushed me backwards slightly, pressing me flat against the wedding dress. It didn't help that some of my hair fell in my eyes, and that I couldn't put it back up in a ponytail—I didn't look as intimidating as I could have been. Kaia, however, managed to appear insanely pretty _and_ the scariest thing you've ever set eyes on at the same time.

"How dare you say that?! Abby is our _friend. _F-R-I-E-N-D! Do you know what that means, Hakoda? No, you probably _don't_! When's the last time you even set foot in a school?!" Kaia paused, anger pouring off of her in waves, "You don't even know what Abby can do! She's ten times the person you are!"

I had no idea what to say. Really, I didn't; Abrielle Miyo couldn't have been as strong as me. Sure, she looked enough like Kaia and I to be our sister, but that didn't mean she had my strength! It was one of my prized possessions, along with my beautiful boomerang! She really was extremely thin, with long jet black hair that she often wore up in a bun. Her smile was a little bit creepy, as if she knew something that I didn't, but no one really qualified as crazy in our District anymore. After all, we were the place that sent Tetra Comn to the Hunger Games; no one could be worse than that girl.

"Kaia…," I paused, sighing, "I'm sorry…I just want to look out for you. I'm your big brother, and I'd hate myself forever if I lost you."

"I'd hate you too," Kaia replied, with a grin, "For hating yourself."

_Abrielle Miyo (12), District Eleven Female-POV_

My home, they tell me, is iridescent in every way, from the paintings to the rugs. They told me about the rich hues of colors I would never know, the way that the sunlight would drift through the windows, and warm the skin of all inside. People told me about the pretty silk dresses, the ones that I recognized from the feel of the fabric, the smoothness and coolness, like water. They told me about the sunsets, how it would fill the sky with pink to the brim, like a cup of calming tea.

They told me about the sights that I would never be able to see. I'd been born blind, a fragile child to the wealthiest family in District Eleven. Everyone always treated me like a baby, just because I wasn't able to see the things that they were able to. I always found sight to be incredibly stupid; just to make a movement, you're going to give off some sort of sound. And from memorization, I'm able to navigate my way around the house, and even through the expansive gardens.

I didn't even need the caretaker that they'd hired for me; a girl named Kaia Hakoda. Of course, I just called her Kaia—everyone called her brother Hakoda, so it was weird to add that name on at the end. See, it was mainly because I sort of had a bit of a crush on him; no, not a crush as in I want to crush him. That's the way I treat bugs—I hate bugs. Or sometimes, Kaia when she insists that I wash up after playing in the dirt.

I love dirt. It feels so nice, a little bit rough, and not all too smooth; it makes me feel close to nature. Nature has always been my best friend, besides Kaia; my parents don't want people to know that I even exist. They think that because I'm so tiny and blind, I'm not going to be able to help myself, to be able to function in society. Ironically, they even insist that I take educate lessons, in case I am Reaped for the Hunger Games.

Kaia probably enjoyed them more than I did.

"How much longer, Piper?" I muttered, trying to sound as polite as I could, without coming off as if I cared.

I already learned that it was important not to lie to people; even if I had to do that on a daily basis. Piper, from the sound of her voice, probably was a timid person, yet rather tall. From the feel of her hands rubbing layer upon layer of makeup on my face, making my pale skin looked tanned, I think she must have been a bit weathered. I enjoyed the roughness of it though; anything dainty wasn't something I was all too interested in.

Another reason that Kaia and I didn't always see eye to eye…She loved playing in my capacious wardrobe, playing with each of the cloths in turn. She would sing when she did that, which helped me learn more about what she might have looked like. I couldn't imagine colors inside of me head, of course, but I could imagine what she might have looked like. From touching things, feeling them after being blind for so long, I had come up with my own version of seeing. I couldn't really explain it to anyone else; not even my parents would have understood.

"Not much longer, Miss Miyo," Piper said, her voice sounding warm and buttery; she might have been smiling, I wasn't sure.

"Good, I can't stand to wear these things," I muttered, hopping off of the stool as soon as I felt her pull away from my face.

I was wearing a dress, which felt as if it was made out of silk; Piper informed me that it was emerald. While I didn't know what that was, I was told that it was a pretty color; pretty useless information, if you ask me. There were annoying high heeled shoes on my feet, but I knew that as soon as I was out of my parents' servants' eyes, I wouldn't have to worry about them anymore. I could chuck them off and hope that I hit a Peacekeeper—that would be mildly amusing.

"I know, Miss Miyo," she replied, grasping my tiny hand in her own, "Come, I've been given orders to take you to the Reaping ceremony. Kaia will not be able to attend to you today."

Keeping my face into a cool and collected mask—or at least, I knew it was—I snatched my hand away from her grasp. I didn't need Piper's help to find my way to the Town Square; all I had to do was follow the voices. The noise and the commotion would be more than enough to be able to locate the simple lines, and someone would probably nudge me in the right direction. My clothing, as I'd been told on numerous occasions, would show my status; as much as I hated it, I had to admit that it may just help.

"Miss Miyo!" Piper called, as I walked briskly out of the house.

I ignored her, kicking off the annoying flats as soon as I was outside. From a couple meters to my right, I heard a grand splash; they must have fallen into the fountain. Grinning, I broke out into a run, going down the path that I had memorized since I was young, not even caring that I may be Reaped today. People were forever underestimating me, not understanding that they should be scared. That when I vanish from my parents' sight, I'm not crying in a wood; I'm teaching myself how to fight.

Eventually, the sound of sobbing drifted to my ears, as I reached my fingertips out lightly. I've been told that my eyes are gray, whatever that may look like, which helps people tell that I'm blind. Or that I could have come from District Twelve; either of them was fine by me. Just as I expected, some gently hands guided me up to a plastic surface, grainy and rough—it must have been a table.

Someone shot something into my arm, which might have hurt, had it not felt like a baby poke, "Next possible, please," a tired voice called out, as I was shoved forward.

There was a lot of body heat in the area, I noticed, with weeping surrounding me from all sides. Assuming that Kaia had told me correctly, that I needed to go to the right and stand in the very back, I followed suit. A couple of people I heard start whispering about me, but I didn't care, spitting on the ground. I grinned, hoping that they would know to leave me alone; I wasn't much of a people person.

"Welcome, District Eleven, to your Reaping for the One Hundred and Seventy Sixth Hunger Games!" A brassy voice, that sounded a bit tired, announced into what I believed was a microphone, "This will be my final year as your Escort, so I hope that I can give off a lasting impression!"

I burst out laughing, knowing that his hopes would be soiled. No one else chuckled however, aside from a couple of people hiding their sniggers in a cough. A couple people around me shifted awkwardly as well; I didn't care though, especially since they were always so noisy. If they gave me headaches from listening to them sometimes, they could put up with me laughing in odd places; I enjoyed being strange that way, without any rules being enforced upon me.

A couple minutes later, after having to listen to the dreariest voice over ever, speculating exactly what those explosions would have looked like, the brassy man stepped back onto the stage. I could only tell this because it creaked under his weight; he needed to hit the gym, clearly. Even Santa Claus, some person that my parents insisted existed, probably wouldn't have made it groan like that…Oh well, it would just provide some amusement for me later.

"For our first Tribute, give a warm welcome to….," Brassy Man paused, coughing painfully, "Abrielle Miyo!"

That was me, wasn't it? I didn't even feel scared, reaching out my fingertips in an attempt to find my way forward. Vaguely, I could feel a stiff arm near me, as people marched me loudly forward. Eventually, the coolness of pavement between my feet changed to that of rough wood; I might have even gotten a splinter or two. Not that it would have mattered, as they suddenly shoved me forward, digging in one of them farther. Yeah, it hurt a little bit, so I allowed my mask to slip; just to let the sponsors think I was weak.

"Good, good," Brassy Man muttered warily, "And joining her will be….Lotus Hakoda!"

I'd already made my impression upon them; my battle was already half won. And I didn't care that Hakoda would be going in there with me…I didn't care.

I really didn't care…Right?

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**Well, if you guess what these Tributes are based off of, you win a prize! Thanks HunterSkull157 for giving me some comedy for this! **

**I personally love how Kaia and Hakoda fight right after he's talking about protecting her...XD That was awesome! Anyways, tell me who your favorite character was? Tell me who you hated? Also, go and vote on the poll! Currently, train rides are preferred to Tribute Goodbyes!  
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**20:  
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**15:  
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**10:  
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**5:  
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	13. District Twelve Reaping

__**So River's gotten a bit...wild...since we last saw her. This story is rated T for a reason, so I do warn you about her POV. It's not explicit, just hinting at some more...mature concepts, for the lack of a better term. If you are not at least 13 years old, I urge you to stop reading River's point of view when the butler's are mentioned, and skip down to Shiloh's. **

**If you don't listen to me, that's your fault. Enjoy!**

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_River Wolfsbane (14), District Twelve Female-POV_

_Some say the world will end in fire,__  
__Some say in ice.__  
__From what I've tasted of desire__  
__I hold with those who favor fire.__  
__But if it had to perish twice,__  
__I think I know enough of hate__  
__To say that for destruction ice__  
__Is also great__  
__And would suffice._

_-_Robert Frost

They say that diamonds are a girl's best friend, and that if you want to win her heart, chocolate is the answer. If that doesn't work, some of them suggest that you buy her clothing, made of the finest silk, a warm cashmere, or the cleanest of wools. All of it comes from one of two Districts, in the end; District Eight or District One, which the Capitol quite clearly depends on. Without them, they'd have no sparkly gowns to wear, no hairspray being canned in the Luxury District, and no fabulous jewels to adorn their mansions with.

Yet clearly, I wasn't someone that had the same needs of the Capitol.

Two butlers waited on my lavishly day and night, wearing emotionless masks, unless I told them that it was otherwise okay. Sure, many people would have liked that, having a man, dressed in the proper attire for his profession, would wait on them hand and foot. I had to admit, it was nice in the mornings, when I simply didn't care enough to dress myself. Having their hands run over me was a sensation that took a bit of time to get used to, but after that one night, well, let's say I experienced _much _more.

Of course, I couldn't tell them which one of them was my favorite. Even I wasn't that hurtful, and I generally didn't care about other people. Side affect, I suppose, of growing up with a murderous psychopath. Ah, those had been the days; deadly, don't get me wrong, but fun at times. I had a collection of friends, yet even they didn't know me the way that they thought they did; I constantly lied in their faces.

Even Jet Newton, the mysterious boy who didn't claim to know his own name. I really never understood him, as he could have just hacked into the computer of each District, and searched for people named Jet that matched his age. Yet I digress; most of the boys under the Master—El Stupido as I called him—tended to not have much in the way of brains. He's dead now, so it's not like these comments could hurt him anyways, and I'd done a favor to him by doing that song and dance for the Capitol last year.

Seriously, I didn't need to go there and advertise his "machoness" just so he might be able to make out of the arena. But I guess he forgot the rule about not falling in love with your opponent; my butlers, naturally, would never go against me. They're being paid, and really, it was their idea in the first place. They also know that I would not hesitate to track them down if they left, and practice my own skills for a little bit; it wouldn't take too long for me to take them out. After all, I was a prodigy in my own rights—Jet never did recognize that, I suppose.

After all, in my world, weapons were a girl's best friend.

"Ah, morning, Miss Wolfsbane!" Sebastian greeted cheerfully, walking into the sitting room; our home was really a series of connected suites, a benefit of being the _only _child of the Mayor.

"Sebastian," I nodded curtly, pretending to be not amused with his presence; rotten lie!

He smiled cheekily at me, his skin nearly as pale as mine, as he approached my padded bed. It was a Queen for a reason, filled with blankets and pillows, all extremely comfortable, in various shades of blue. It was supposed to represent a river, as that's the name that I went by; not my real name, of course. That was top secret, beyond the knowledge of even my captor, who surely knew where I was. However, the Capitol already had taken a likening to me, so I am relatively safe; even he couldn't dare defy the President.

I'd conned him at his own game years before he even realized it; I was so far out in the open that I became untouchable. He wouldn't be able to find me alone if he wanted, especially with Sebastian and Claude milling around, always watching over me day and night; it was lovely, in a creepy pedophilic sort of way. Almost as pretty as when I decided that roses were all the better to hide poison in; a couple of the cooks had to be replaced, but it wasn't like I hadn't done that sort of stuff before. Really, in the grand scheme of things, I was a saint compared to the Capitol; people celebrated their work, so no one should be all too concerned with my activities.

"You look radiant this morning, Mistress," he murmured, selecting a gown out of the closet—one of the ones with a corset.

Smiling slyly, I knew that this was more for him than it was for me; he just couldn't keep it in his pants, now could he? Well, it wasn't like Claude was much better than him, now that I think of it. Yet closing my eyes, I waited in the dainty little bed, playing the part of a lady who I never could quite be. The belle that would normally find herself stuck in my position wouldn't fight if you paid her to; I would fight even if you didn't pay me.

As for my habits, well, District Twelve has a history for scandals in the family of the Mayor. It's not like you could really blame me—Father had his own maids, you see. His favorite was a pretty blonde girl, named Ellie, and I detested her so much. Sometimes, I'd have Claude follow her around, just to scare her; it was a grand laugh! Though one time, the person did go into a coma…Oh well, they were out of it a couple months later; no harm done.

"Like I didn't know that," I scoffed, as he tugged the covers of my bed off to the floor, "You're lucky you're not handsome, or your face would have a date with my foot."

Sebastian winked, his black hair playfully messed up in spikes, "And I do look forward to it, Mistress."

"Oh, please," I laughed, shaking my head at him, "It's River. Call me that, or you won't have to wait for that date any longer. Got it, Pretty Boy?"

The butler leaned in close, slipping my nightgown off of me swiftly. Picking me up easily in one hand, always gloved, he winked at me. He murmured something, probably an arrogant reply of, "got it," but I wasn't able to quite hear him. Sebastian had the annoying ability of being very quiet, which while I myself boasted it, I wasn't quite found about the fact that other people had it as well. On the bright side, Sebastian didn't mind being my dummy for target practice; he was pretty much the perfect package. A couple of downfalls, but those, those were the best; perfectly ripe for exploitation.

Claude wasn't nearly as much fun to mess with!

"All right, _River_," he taunted, pressing me tightly against him, "I wouldn't want to make you the first girl murdered by a corset, so….May I?"

He leaned down teasingly, not even bothering to wait for a reply. Sebastian ran his gloved hands over my back, before setting the material down delicately. A couple moments later, he began lacing it up, enjoying my grunts of pain as he tugged and tugged. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant experience out there, but I'd gotten used to it; most of my dresses required a corset. Come to think of it, Sebastian was the one that approved the design patterns as well; I'd have to get back at him for this later.

"There," he whispered soothingly, a mere inch away from my undefended neck now, "Is that to your liking…River?"

I shivered, willing my elbow to drive backwards into his stomach. The resulting pained groan brought joy to my ears, as I straightened up automatically, to survey my handiwork. Betrayal wasn't quite the right word for what was etched across Sebastian's face—more like admiration. I smiled coyly back at him, making sure to bat my eyelashes a bit, so my blue eyes wouldn't look as menacing as they always did; it was either that, or I'd look incredibly bored.

Almost like the boy Robyn Vespers, from District Ten; I'd had a little chat with him in the train ride back to the Districts, and we'd gotten along well. Perhaps a little _too _well, given that we were strangers. However, he wasn't too bad of a kisser—I would have liked to see more of his work. If that had been an audition, to become my third butler, I'm sure that Robyn had passed with flying colors. Not that I'd ever get to see him, or at least, not for a while; I had to wait for the Master to kick the bucket.

Or perhaps, I could just do it to him myself…Quite tempting, but I'd rather laugh while someone else did it. A lot more fun for me, as I can just sit there, munching on some candy for the tiny sweet shop, while he begs for me to save him. I totally would never save him, but that's beside the point; I want to watch him plead for mercy.

And unfortunately for him, mercy wasn't my middle name…Not anymore…

_Shiloh Iscani (13), District Twelve Male-POV_

My mother was the proud owner of the tiny sweet shop in District Twelve, which some would find to be an irony when you look at my father's line of work. I didn't mind it though, as the explosions of colors were so vivid, so bright, so shiny…It was all amazing! Everything was different, from the designs advertising on the window, to the customers that came in day to day. We didn't get many of them, but the people were so much fun to talk to, and especially to share ideas with! They were the rich of the District after all, like my family and I, so they were able to tell if something was going to work.

Dad wasn't a very creative person, in fact, he was downright scary, so I never really took my schemes to him. You see, while my mother was selling things that weren't exactly healthy for you, my dad was the owner of the District Twelve hospital. He treated all of the poor people, as well as the wealthy, if they were able to cough up the funds for it. Public health care wasn't going to be something we'd been seeing in my District for a while now; it was a depressing thought.

"Shiloh, there's a couple of extras…Would you like some?" Mom, a very sweet lady with rosy dimples, asked.

"Sure!" I grinned, dashing over to her quickly, "What kind? I hope they're chocolate! I love chocolate! Chocolate might be able to help the world one day, you know!"

Mom's grin faltered slightly, as she shook her head. Nudging her head, filled with dark curly blonde hair—the same shade as mine—she pointed towards the empty chocolate cabinet. We'd sold out, and the next shipment wouldn't be for a couple of weeks; there was no way she would have given me any in this scenario. Maybe if it was my birthday, but even that wasn't likely; we had money for a reason. Dad made sure that no one was going to try and steal from us, that's one of them, and the other is that we had economic sense.

But if I had had my way, we'd have been giving half of our profits to the people of the Seam. I hated to see people acting sad, as I felt powerless to do anything to fix it. I tried to live by the Golden Rule, to help everyone because that's what I wanted them to do to me. I didn't want them to be scared of me, or to treat me like royalty; that's what Dad wanted. He scared off all of the kids, meaning that I really didn't have any friends; he was just too overprotective. Mom tried to get him to left me have a little more freedom, but that usually didn't happen. Really, Dad was the one calling the shots in my family; there wasn't much that I was able to do.

"I have some suckers, that's it, though," Mom sighed, handing them over to me, "They've always been our worst seller…I suppose we should try to stop buying them, but I know how the Mayor's daughter loves them. I don't think we could afford to get on her bad side, Shi."

I grinned at Mom, trying to lift her spirits, "That's fine! I love suckers! Nothing better than to, well, suck on 'em and hear 'em crunch! It's the best sound in the world! Even better than the end of the day siren!"

She laughed, smiling appreciatively at me—that was a good sign. Mom tossed the candies over to me, which I caught firmly in my hands. Even if I was already decked out in my Reaping finery, she didn't mind if I got all sugared up. I had to go through the Reaping, with the chance that I might die; I suppose, in a way, it was her way of trying to cheer me up. Not that I minded; everyone loved candy! If they didn't, well, they must have been one of the nutjobs in the Capitol, which is ironically, our main supplier. All of our orders ended up being checked by the President himself, for being a "specialty item" in the Coal District.

"Well, you better head on down to the Reaping anyways," Mom said, smiling sadly, "I wouldn't want you to be late. They do horrible things if you are….Be safe, Shi, please. For me….I'll be down there in a couple of moments, once I've closed up the shop."

Embracing Mom, I jammed the suckers into the pockets of my slacks, making sure that my orange plaid shirt had no wrinkles on it at all. It hadn't been mine, until a little while ago; Dad gave it to me, as it used to be his Reaping shirt. He thinks that I'm going to grow up to be a doctor, just like him; all I know is that I want to help people. There's really no more plans spinning around in my insane little head besides that, and building a waterslide out of chocolate, with cotton candy falls, and sour sauce running down the entire thing….

Mom didn't think it would be a very good combination, but my opinion was the one that mattered there.

"Hey, Shiloh!" a random boy, I think he was named Cole, shouted out.

"What's up?" I shouted back, grinning as I jogged over to him—he was about to step into line for the Reaping.

Mom's shop was in Town Square, so it really didn't take me all too long to catch up. Normally, a couple of kids would have complained that I was cutting in line, but no one cared today. No one was really that anxious to enter the Reaping; if anything, they'd rather it be over and done with. I didn't blame them at all; it would be a lot easier if the Capitol could just Reap themselves, and eventually not have enough people left to do their wicked games. It would solve a lot of problems; maybe even make my chocolate waterslide possible, too.

"Er….Nothing much, you know, usual stuff," Coal muttered, trying not to gasp in pain as they pricked his finger—I remembered that he hated blood.

"Yeah, me too," I replied, pulling out a sucker to chew on, as the lady stabbed the needle into my own hand; a little bit of sugar always helped me there.

Coal whistled, as soon as I walked forward with him into the den of thirteen year old boys, "Your mom gave you that? Lucky! My dad says I'm not good enough for anything…," He paused, chuckling, "Usually 'cause he's drunk, but oh well. Spot me one?"

"Sure, man," I grinned, pulling out a sucker and handing it to Coal, "Just don't let the cameras see you."

Coal nodded appreciatively, his gray eyes examining the sweet intently, before undoing the wrapper. He didn't really get candy much, being from the Seam; that's one of the thing that separated my class from his, though I didn't mind it all too much. I had fairly stereotypical, nice guy looks; the type that the people in the Capitol associated with Peeta Mellark. Sure, I liked him fairly well from the bit we learned about him in class, but the entire obsession with bread sort of turned me off…

Bread was bread. Not a cause to practically end your life over.

"Welcome, District Twelve, to this year's Reaping Ceremony!" Effie Abernathy exclaimed, standing next to a disgruntled looking Rue Mellark.

"NO ONE THANKED YA!" one of the drunks yelled out, before collapsing in a heap, which caused everyone to bite their lips in an effort to hide their laughter.

Only the Tributes probably wouldn't find anything funny about this later; they probably just lost half of their sponsors like that. Maybe even made the Capitol hate our District even more, as it's fairly well known for rebels; we birthed the Mockingjay, after all. Then I think they might have had some problems with last year's Tributes, but I'm not really that sure; I tend to try and black out the Hunger Games as much as possible. That way it hurts less, since I can't remember it; otherwise, no bad things had really happened in my lifetime.

"Now, let's select our female Tribute!" Effie announced, directly after the conclusion of the video, "We'll have….Oh my! I believe we may have a winner this year! Come on up, our Mayor's pride and joy, River Wolfsbane!"

"Well, well, well," a loud voice, distinctly female, and distinctly River, sounded, "I'd have to say that I agree with you, Effie!"

No one could deny that she was beautiful, in a long flowing blue dress, with a tightly strung black corset. Little pearls were hidden in her wild mane, a fiery color that no one could quite forget; her blue eyes were batting playfully at the men in the crowd. It was in the a groomed way, probably the practiced hands of her many servants, who probably helped her with that smug grin of hers. She was poised perfectly, shaking each person's hand, and flashing glances of victory into the cameras; she couldn't have done anything better.

"Brilliant," Effie cheered, brushing her long beer colored hair behind her ear, "Joining the lovely River will be…Shiloh Iscani!"

"What?!" I heard myself say, which must have helped the Peacekeepers easily locate me.

Not even fifteen seconds later, I found myself, completely bewildered, being dragged up to the stage. My arms flailed lightly, as I still couldn't quite comprehend what had happened. Had that been my name that had been pulled out of the Reaping jar? Really? Why me? I only had, what, two entries? That's almost as safe as it got in the Reaping, and somehow, they managed to pull out my name! I thought that I had enough karma points to save me! I thought that…

_ Breathe, Shi_, I told myself, _breathe and look like you planned this. Grin. Show up River. Got to make them notice you….Come on, Shi, breathe! There, that's a good boy. Now put on a winning smile…Atta boy! Now give Effie a hug! Yes, yes…Very good! We may be in the clear!_

"Excited, young man?" Effie asked me, which must have meant that my act was working.

I nodded, though deep down, I knew that this was a big lie. I wasn't excited at all; these were going to be my final days, stuck with the finicky daughter of the Mayor…I might never see my mother again, or be able to have another Reaping day treat. I might not be able to talk to one of my chums, the few people that hadn't been scared away by my dad; I'd never be able to make him proud, by becoming a doctor.

I didn't like the word never.

* * *

**And with that, we only have one more Reaping left to go! Cylana and Arko promise to be some interested CAREERS to add to the batch! Yes, folks, District Thirteen is finally acting as a proper Career District this year! That should provide for some fun!**

**Hint: The District Eleven Tributes are from a popular animated TV show...It's been made into a movie, and is run by Nick. Does that help? ^^**

**Let me know what you thought! District Twelve turned out to be a lot longer than I would have thought it would be! Also, don't forget to go vote on the poll on my profile! It's going to affect the course of the story!**

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	14. District Thirteen Reaping

_Arko Bleau (16), District Thirteen Male-POV_

It had been three months. Only about ninety days. Just two thousand one hundred and sixty hours. Only one hundred twenty nine thousand six hundred minutes had passed. And exactly seven million seven hundred seventy six thousand seconds had gone by since I had last been on the rocky shores of my home country. All of that time couldn't simply be expressed that way, while being able to expect someone to even _fathom _the way that I felt. How I missed the smog covered skies, the lights, the people, the television previews; even the Jammy Dodgers would have been such a delight!

_"Well, Arko, let me tell you something. I'll allow you to return home…For a price, of course. To Volunteer for my Hunger Games, and naturally, become the British Victor. Wouldn't that be something?"_

All of my chums, the ones that I would play with from dawn until dusk once each fortnight, they were all gone. Really, I was the one that was gone, but from my own perspective, it was as if they abandoned me. That they put me into exile, left to drift down from my native ground, to this miserable excuse of a country. There was no version of parliament, no kings and no queens; it was a barbaric land, filled with riches of course, but with no identifiable form of government.

It was ruled by a dictator, who called himself to be the President, yet we all knew that no one would willingly pick him. Only the deluded sacks that waltz around, calling themselves human beings, fellow homeo sapiens, would _ever_ cast him down on their ballot. I knew this much, from years spent in the mansions of governors and the likes, including that of my own father. A faithful ambassador to our Queen, Liz 10, who enjoyed knowing the many expanses of her kingdom, to allow our people to prosper.

In the words of one of our famous icons, a Sir Doctor of Torchwood Estate, _"Only Britain is Great."_

Blimey, I had to agree with that bloke, one of the finest men to ever appear in television. He's still on the air, dancing around with a girl named Kathy, while saving the universe from total corruption. I found it highly amusing, especially since it was aired live in Panem; it was a high demand in District Four, for some ironic reason. Probably the home of the science fiction fans, who would have been delighted to meet me; no one tells a story better than an Englishman.

Of course, that's if you could separate us from our tea. I would love a cuppa each morning, if that could at all be possible. Peppermint happened to be my favorite, though I'd lost interest in lavender, as that's the flavor of choice for President Gremlin. He pops in about once a month, to remind me of what I have to do to get us back home. After all, they couldn't exactly let us leave, without a reason for us to stay; Britain could easily wipe out Panem. Naturally, their so called President didn't want that to happen, keeping us practically prisoners in the worst District of all.

Unfortunately, my time here in Panem has already began to change me, so I'm not exactly the same person I was before. I developed a cocky manner, not unlike the handful of kids aspiring to be Careers in the silly festivities; really, they should just try our own Olympic Games. Less death, and all around, a lot more fun; unless you lose, though we don't tend to have that problem. We're brilliant at anything, and as some of the more fanatical people may say, _wicked_. And though I was one of those athletes, I wasn't all into competition, not as much as my brother Damon; he can't stand not achieving his victory. Thus in order to look like a proper candidate, a guaranteed Volunteer who can win these horrible events, I had to become more like him.

This is going to haunt me one day; even Isobelle would agree, if she knew that I really wasn't like this. Because one day, when I'm back at home, sitting in a flat that Father purchased for me, a lorry is going to go by with a truckload of children on it. I'll be an old person, or I'll feel that way, and I'll sneer at them in spite; I'll detest them, even if I'd never met them. That's a rather frightening idea, that even I wouldn't want to wish upon someone; though, it probably already happened to Damon and Father. Mother and I were the sensible ones in the family, which people could go to for help and ideas; strangely enough, people only went to her, though.

Well, that was probably because they thought I was an old sod, too. A git with a capital g who couldn't mind his own business….Yeah, I suppose it's rather evident that I'm not all too fond of my twin, who would be able to pretend to be me if we were identical. Fortunately, the matter of hair color saved me from that particular peril; while mine was chocolate brown, his was a shock of white. We both had narrow blue eyes, though I liked to believe that mine were a little more friendly looking than his; wishful thinking, maybe?

It didn't matter though, as long as I got back to my beloved country. I didn't intend to make an Odysseus out of myself, faced with several challenges, only to make one mistake and repeat it all over again. However, I couldn't help but be nervous that this President Gremlin character wasn't going to keep true to his word; after all, he said he would only visit us once, but has come a total of three times so far. Three times too many, if you ask me; we didn't mean for our boat to venture into Panem's daring shores. I mean really, no one could ever want to come here, so it didn't make any sense that we would come here willingly.

Father had been sent on a mission, you see, to try and acquire more land for Liz 10. There had been an exploration sent her a while ago, something about how it seemed to be a promising land mass a couple thousand kilometers bellow. I daresay that there must have been an error in the calculations for us to have landed here, as there was _nothing _to be found desirable about this mass of land. Seriously, it wasn't that far away from a previous bombing either; I'd spotted it off of our ship, with some dead trees littering around. A couple of tombstones were sticking out, with a name etched into one that I couldn't quite make out; I saw a large fiery symbol though, so it must have been someone important.

In fact, I later found out, meaning today, that it had been one of the arena locations. Everything had been caved in, but due to people wanting to tour it, they ended up restoring the area. It was a gruesome idea, reminding me of the Romans that I had to study in my history call; I was rather glad when we moved on to more pleasant subjects of study. It wasn't like the tiny school they had here in District Thirteen was much better; especially, since they recently announced that the Head Mentors, or whatever they were called, from some of the top Districts had accepted District Thirteen into the Careers.

I really wasn't interested in knowing how to kill someone in cold blood; that was more Damon's forte.

_Cylana Ellis (15), District Thirteen Female-POV_

Unlike most of the girls, I didn't pull a dress out of my closet for this occasion; I really didn't have the money to do so. All around me, girls in things that looked appropriate for a prom, or the single Church that stood in shambles a couple blocks away. I must have seemed out of place, but hey, that's how it usually was for me; it gave me a much needed air of mystery. I had some secrets that I didn't want just anyone to know about it, and Isobelle Parks already had found out about it when I did some work for her father's business.

I didn't trust that girl as far as I could throw her. After all, she hanged out with the Bleau Twins, who had a reputation for being snobs with an accent akin to that of the Capitol. I wasn't one to pay attention to the gossip mill, yet as I had a job as a flower delivery girl—it paid more than most would think—I often ended up hearing things like this anyways. The juicy news that spread through the District like wildfire; most people expected that Arko and Damon were spies. Given that I could be in some massive trouble if anyone found out my secret, I didn't like the idea that Isobelle knew about it; I wasn't even sure how she had found out.

"Er…Miss?" a timid voice called out, as I felt someone tug on the sleeve of my shirt.

I couldn't help but wince slightly; Dad would be a little bit disappointed if my clothing was damaged. Especially if he knew that I was going to Volunteer today; that way we could each have a better life, out of poverty, and closer to our roots. Thankfully though, the vivid blue and white checker board pattern of my button up wasn't messed up at all; my jeans must have been a lost cause, though. The ever present layer of dust and filth that covered District Thirteen had set on them a while ago, changing the blue color to a solid black over the years.

When I got to the Capitol, if people did scorn me for it, I'd just tell them they could go and clean up our District first. _Then _I might be able to look more presentable to them, with long brown hair, and dark eyes of a similar shade; people told me I appeared rather pretty. Part of me couldn't help but wonder if the famous Clark Hallen would agree, as a way to calm my hammering heart; even if I have been training for this, there would be no way to be certain that I would win. I'd just have to try my best and trust my luck.

"Yes?" I asked, turning around to a small girl, probably around twelve, with adorable blonde pigtails.

Her blue eyes were watering—not a very good sign, "C-C-Could you help me? I d-don't know where to go…"

My heart softened, as I tried not to think about how little girls like here would be inside of this arena. It was easier to think of them as Wednesday Vespers; little suicidal maniacs that were probably better off dead. That's practically my attitude towards most of the Tributes, but after watching the Hunger Games of Cypress Junos, I knew that I ought to be careful. It was a lame victory, yet I still wouldn't want to be killed by not checking my food for poison; that would feel so idiotic in the afterlife. Well, I wouldn't be alive, so it really wouldn't matter much…But that was beside the point; I didn't like the idea that I would be taken out by the means that I plan to use against others. That was like if a cheater cheated on another cheater; it was complete and utter nonsense.

"Sure, sweetheart, you're going to go up to one of the tables. We're already in line, so just go up when it's your turn. They'll prick your finger—it doesn't hurt at all, I promise," I began, rushing my words, as I saw one of the ladies giving me the evil eye, as I was supposed to be up there already, "Then just step forward into _that _little roped off area, and you'll be fine."

"Thank you, Miss," the little girl sniffled, before dashing off to another open table.

From the look my lady was giving me, she didn't have the patience to wait for me any longer. Neither did the Escort; practically everyone was already standing in their proper areas. I smiled sheepishly, before walking forward, my heart heavy with my secret; I knew that Isobelle was going to Volunteer. I'm positive that she planned on it; after all, she kept on mentioning the Hunger Games lately. It was surefire, and if she was in the Capitol, I knew that she would expose me like a bug to be dissected.

"You people really should understand that we're on a schedule!" the lady chastised, grabbing my finger harshly, and practically jabbing the needle into it.

I tried to smile nicely at her, as she crushed my finger down onto the pristine white paper, smearing my blood everywhere. When she found out that I'm the Tribute, I'm almost positive that she's going to regret this; they want to have Tributes be in top physical condition. And even the major paper cut that she just dealt me would qualify as hindering my prowess in the games; I couldn't help but be a bit amused right now.

"I'll make sure to keep that in mind, I promised, gliding forward to my place among the fifteen year olds.

A couple of the Peacekeepers shot me a nasty look, as I quickly realized that I had been the last person. Oops. Normally, they'd pull you aside later, and personally escort you to the very next Reaping; I'd never have to attend one as a potential Tribute again though, so it would be a mute point. However, upon eying Isobelle's determined stature, a sleek panther being a grand comparison, I was reminded that it wasn't all too certain. I'd have to beat that girl to the stage; I wasn't all too worried about it, though, as I had ended up near the aisle, while she was stuck in a sea of girls in bulky gowns.

Chloha West stood on the stage, grinning widely out at us all, "Hello, welcome, welcome, welcome….This does promise to be a fabulous Reaping, for District Thirteen has joined the ranks of the mighty Careers! As of such, we must recognize our illustrious leader, President Gremlin, when watching a short video before the selection. Thank you!"

Just like most years, it was the dull retelling of the Dark Days, and from that, Panem was formed. It briefly showed some footage of the old Hunger Games—always the moment in which it started or it ended—before flashing forward to the rebellion. The era of the Mockingjay; it focused a lot on Katniss Everdeen, who had long since been killed, in this very District. I didn't really feel a need to pay attention to it; after all, it was the same one they played every year, with the changing of the face of the current Victor. Maya Eberhart stared at us, a fake smile on her face; I'd been rooting for her last year, I do admit, because she reminded me of myself. People tend to be centered that way when finding a favorite.

"That was touching!" Chloha commented, jerking me back to reality, as she plucked a slip out of the pale Reaping bowl, "Anyways, without further ado, our female Tribute will be…"

"I VOLUNTEER!" I shouted out boldly, making a wild dash to the stage, certain that Isobelle would challenge me for my spot at any moment.

I clambered onto the stage, broadly shaking Chloha's hand, before taking the female Tribute's spot. My mind hadn't even registered yet that Isobelle had made no move at all, no sign of defeat in her wide eyes; she must not have planned on Volunteering. This, well, it wasn't exactly what I expected to hear; so naturally, I found myself in a bit of a panic.

Breathing in, I tuned out on who was picked to be the male Tribute; all I did was scan the crowd frantically. Vaguely, I was aware of one of the Bleau boys Volunteering—another horrible sign. It was the brown haired one, who I think was named Arko; I couldn't have been certain though. It just goes to show that I shouldn't trust myself, after all, I had just Volunteered for the Hunger Games. I'd thrown away my life, practically, without a need or cause…How _brilliant_of me to do so!

Chloha smiled knowingly at the both of us, as if she agreed…

* * *

**Merry Christmas everyone! This just happened to be your present! The next chapter will be, from the looks of the poll, the start of the Train Ride scenes! The Bloodbath list may/may not be announced then, but keep an eye out for it! It does have a say on who gets the sponsor points from the new shop system! Anyways, I must go! Have a wonderful day! **

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**Psst. Voting is required now. ;) You've met all of the Tributes!**


	15. To the Capitol

_Prodigy Mallord (18), District One Female-POV_

"It really is a fabulous piece, don't you think?" Tia asks, ushering the two of us onboard the train.

Somehow, in the allotted hour for Tributes to say goodbye to their families, she had managed to completely redecorate herself. Instead of her earlier dress, she now looked more like a circus clown; I'd properly never be able to even attempt to take her seriously. Not that I ever would, of course; I would just smile, dance the right way, and laugh at the right jokes until I ended up in that Winner's Circle. It was my lifelong dream, of course, and one that I was sure that I would be able to achieve.

I couldn't say the same for my District Partner, naturally.

No one could deny that he was beautiful, with locks the color of honey, casted carelessly over his head. Blue eyes that reflected his very soul would stare out at you, bewitching you if you happened to glance too long; that is, if you felt any emotion akin to love, which I did not. Helena would have been spared from this curse as well, as her blindness would have left her with just his voice, his personality, which was never the same. Always changing, in an Odyssey of his very own that no one could save him from. His mind must have just snapped one day, as far as I could tell; he had a haunted expression on his face, which contorted as if he was having a conversation with someone no one else could here.

It certainly ruined the beauty of his face, not too pale, and yet not too tanned. I myself might have fallen for him, if I hadn't lost all desire to find a partner in life. They would only betray you, pushing a penetrating knife into your back, until you fell tumbling to the floor. I couldn't allow this to happen to me; I had to be victorious. And I think Tia knew that, as she guided us into the room in which we would meet our Mentors; the famous duo, Julius Le Omen and Elegance Farrow. A couple years from now, I would be the one lounging on the sofa, waiting for the two lucky ones to come for me for help and advice.

It was a very warm and smug feeling. I told myself to enjoy it while it lasted, as soon enough, I would be taken off of this little training vacation. They'd let me loose in the Capitol's own facilities for a few days, before turning me over to the arena, in which my skills would be put to the test. In which, I would personally decide what happened to Helena in the next couple of weeks; if I died, so would she, it was that simple. But if I was to live, to become the Victor of the One Hundred and Seventy Sixth Hunger Games, so would she; she'd live comfortably as always, without having to worry about being forced to train.

"Oh, you must be Prodigy Mallord," Elegance acknowledged, sipping her glass delicately.

I nodded, allowing Julius to kiss my hand, for his greeting. Meanwhile, I could hear my fellow Tribute muttering something about the letter z under his breath; it was complete and utter nonsense, that I doubted anyone would ever be able to understand. It was then that I made my silent vow to inform my fellow Careers about this; we'd have to dispose of him neatly and quickly, before he went insane, surrounded by lethal weapons. Even I didn't wish such a danger upon the other Tributes; at least, not while I was one of the targets.

"And what is the name of your partner, Prodigy?" Julius inquired, running a hand through his sexily disheveled blonde hair, "I seem to be under the impression that he's a bit surprised to be here…"

Elegance laughed, setting her fragile wine glass onto the table delicately, "It's no matter to me, Julie. I'll be working with Prodigy—you know how much I enjoy picking the winners!" she laughed, as if she hadn't just told Ribbon that he was going to die.

Julius raised an eyebrow, and while I wish he was perplexed at her declaration, I had a feeling that wasn't it. He was probably more bothered by the nickname _Julie_ than being given the dud of the group; and for some reason, this bothered me. I couldn't even explain why, when I myself had already made a plot to murder the deranged boy.

"Oh, Prodigy, I suppose this will be more beneficial to you, yes?" Elegance asked, dipping her dainty fingernails into a bowl of brightly colored candy; they were a favorite of Helena, I remember dimly.

"Of course," I replied with a grin, trying not to over analyze the emotions coursing through inside of myself, "All that matters is the Victory. I'm in this to win…_Ellie._"

Elegance winked cheerily, but I couldn't find the heart to wink back.

_Scipio Masca (16), District Two Male-POV_

"Well, we're going to have to get to business," Kira muttered, glancing distastefully down at the carpet.

It's not like I didn't want to make a good impression; I really did. But queasiness had entered me, finally leaving have round five of vomiting in the little room they had set aside for me. Gladys had been sighing, forcing some type of odd remedy down by throat; she probably pawned it off of someone, as I doubted that she would willingly spend her money on me. Still, the vomiting effect had finally subsided, as I think the Escort might have been able to find a new outfit to wear, after I had spewed on them for the third time.

Some would have been feeling pretty good about themselves. Had they not been, of course, been entering the stage of regret. I'd done this all to bring myself self worth; and naturally, I'd gotten off to a shaky start of it. I'd Volunteered for myself, thrown up on national television, which probably scared off all of the sponsors that I could have hoped to obtain. And knowing my opponent and partner, Avalon, they probably had all gone over to sign up to aid her; just _peachy. _

"Sounds good to me," Avalon smirked, eying the vomit stain as well—Gladys' cure hadn't kicked in as soon as I would have liked.

"Doesn't it?" I muttered, slumping down in the incredibly cushy chair, wishing that I had more to occupy my attention than ripping up the precious golden threads.

Avalon gave me a look, tossing her caramel colored hair over her shoulder. During the brief break, in which a couple of Avoxes had stared at me in disgust, she'd changed out of her Reaping garbs. Currently, she was wearing a black turtle neck, with hot pink pants; I could only guess that those had been the only color of jeans available. She didn't strike me as the type of girl that would be particularly fond of that shade.

Sensing the tension between the two of us, Kira gave her partner, a strong man named Kale, a meaningful look. It was that of the alpha partner in the relationship, clearly stating: _do as I say, or die, pal._ I almost felt like applauding her for it, if I didn't feel so horribly sarcastic; Corvus would have been ashamed of me, even if this was a lift from my own depression.

"Well," Kale started suddenly, almost sounding like a yelp, "How about we get this show on the road? Personally, I'm curious as to your reason for Volunteering, Avalon. While Scipio, man…I think it's a little too easy to see yours. Drunks typically don't carry much logic in their noggins."

I tried not to take offense at that. Of course, _tried _is the keyword in that sentence; it was a rather fruitless attempt, as well. All I succeeded in doing was developing what must have appeared to be an angry twitch, while Kira waltzed out of the room, probably going to go get some gin. If I hadn't nearly thrown up on her earlier, I would have had the nerve to ask for some as well; I could have really used it.

Avalon replied coldly a moment later, grinning like the Cheshire Cat of the Old Days, "I didn't come here for the parties- I came here for the real fun. Taking down each and every one of the pathetic little Tributes until no one else is left…except me, of course."

Kale chuckled, while I couldn't help but wonder about my own reason. I certainly wasn't here for the parties, but was I here to kill all of the Tributes? Well, that would always be one way to find self worth; seeing how quickly I can whip around a sword. It probably wasn't the best one though, as I should have realized hours ago, when I snuck down to take out that bottle of alcohol, and let the pleasing liquid flow into my mouth.

I was starting to see why they called it liquid courage.

_Emiliana Vincere (16), District Three Female-POV_

"Well, your Mentors won't be ready for a couple of moments. I suggest that the both of you go get changed and…," Morginth paused, staring off into the distance quietly.

"And what?" Mika piped up, intently staring at the massive food cart; my best guess, which was probably correct, is that he wasn't very well fed.

I suppose that must have been one of the benefits of living the way that I do, well, did. I never had to worry about going hungry, as food just sort of magically appeared on the table; always Italian, as Dad tried to keep us to the traditional roots of our organization. Not that I actually cared, anymore, about silly things such of that; I'd be living the life of a Victor, or none at all, in the next few weeks to come. And somehow, neither of those choices seemed like such a bad option to me; I was sure I'd do better than Malaya Finaca, anyways. Probably end up getting District Three accepted into the Career Pack, as I heard something about Thirteen being added recently.

"Nothing you two would need to be concerned about," Morginth muttered under his breath, "Take any room that you like. Change of clothes is in the dresser."

Without another word, our beefy Escort walked off; going into a part of the train I doubted I had access to. After all, there was some sort of key required to get in; it gave him a couple of seconds' delay, before he barreled through the door and out of our sight. I couldn't help but sigh, wondering if the Mentors themselves were going to act this flighty; it wouldn't fare well for us if they did.

"See ya, kid," I excused myself, perfectly prepared to ignore Mika, as I walked into my own little area of the train.

As soon as I closed the door, I heard a muffled bit of protest, but decided to ignore it anyways. Mika probably wasn't going to last very long in the Hunger Games, and if I wished to patch up the damage Malaya had done with the Careers last year, I had to rid myself of association with my District as best as possible. It was an impossible job; one that I was going to have to do as much of that I could, in order to survive. That kid wasn't going to be able to help me achieve either of those; when it came to my District Partner, I'd decided I'd have to cut my losses and run. It was the only conceivable plan that I could think of.

Well, I couldn't say that the Capitol lacked style when it came to room décor. Everything was perfectly placed, and it probably took hours of debate on one of the Hunger Games committees. The same one that would have designed the arena that we would be flung into, brought to us all by the wicked imagination of a Miss Datura Gremlin. One of the kids at school had done a report on her, even putting down her hatred of District Seven, and that she was named after a poisonous flower; he'd been dragged away by Peacekeepers the next week.

In the end, all I could really say is that we all have our secrets. And when it came to the mind of our young Head Gamemaker, she believed that hers should be hidden at all times. No one, and she meant no one, would ever be privy to them; it was lucky that my entire class wasn't taken out, as well. I doubt that the Capitol would have done that though, as they'd be missing a large age section from District Three in their Reaping; that just couldn't be allowed.

"Now what?" I asked out loud, merely to break the silence.

I didn't feel like taking off my Reaping clothes, but I knew that I ought to change anyways. Sponsors enjoyed seeing you show off in just more than one outfit. Not that I was that type of girl, though when in the Hunger Games, you have to play any advantage that you could possibly have. Heck, if your talent was doing card tricks, you could probably use it in an interview; impress all of the gamblers, and maybe they'll be more likely to bet on you. There must have been over a thousand strategies to win the Hunger Games at this point in time.

Yet hardly any of them would ever work…

_Caspian Cavaliere (15), District Four Male-POV_

"Another Riddle," Ariella chuckled, beckoning the two of us to the table, "I daresay we've had almost each one of your family in our games, dear. I do hope you survive…There must be _such _potential for you to willingly cast away your life in hopes of being the lucky one!"

Sapphire smiled sarcastically at Ariella, evidently not taking that the way that our Escort had intended her to. I still remember the glare on her face the day that Nicolas, her brother, had been killed; it was almost as pretty as a Dalek. Which just happened to have been one of my worst fears, and luckily, probably wouldn't be ending up in the arena. _Probably. _That's the only word that I had found to be able to supply slight comfort for me; I never wanted to enter the Games.

However, the red haired minx next to me probably couldn't say the same. Sapphire was grinning one moment, while glaring the next. Anything that had to do with me would set her off, like a bomb ticking away at the final seconds; I knew why, though. In all of my books, people usually end up jealous one their loved ones have passed on, and see people in similar positions. They will either attach to them, or develop an incredible hatred that it couldn't have been the previously mentioned person standing there.

"Have they finished the Bloodbath list, yet?" I inquired, slipping down into one of the oak chairs.

I couldn't help but notice that the Avoxes were wearing red; according to an old show that I enjoyed watching, it wasn't very likely that they were going to live. It was probably because it reminded people of the color of blood, so if they had to murder someone, it would be one of them. Maybe the Capitol did that as well, knowing that even if their only punishment was the loss of their tongue, they'd have to remember to kill them in the end. I couldn't have been too sure, though; I didn't know much about our leaders.

"In a few moments," Ariella replied, delicately pouring out a cup of steaming tea, "If they are running on time, the Tributes from District Thirteen were Reaped just a few moments ago."

"Wow, that's late," Sapphire interjected, roughly grabbing a chicken leg, without any manners shown at all; she must have been more of a wild child than I knew.

Ariella chuckled, "You can't expect the Reapings to all happen at the same time. The viewing audience in the Capitol enjoys going from one to the next, so we can watch all of them happen…I suppose living in the District, you wouldn't know how exciting Hunger Games season is. Our schools are dismissed for it, as well."

"It's all a sport to you," I said, thinking of the countless arenas that appeared in stories, "It's not like our dying is going to affect you that much. All you have to do is make sure that there are enough of us to reproduce, not enough money for us to develop, and continue on until we finally revolt."

"We all know how that turned out," Sapphire added with a laugh, biting off a big chunk of chicken, "Good thing we're on good terms with the Cappie. Otherwise, we might as well be rolling around in the mud, like the Twelvers are. They _really_ don't know what's good for them, do they?"

Sapphire propped her feet up on the table, seeming to enjoy herself more than I had ever noticed before. Honestly, some people thought that she should have seen a doctor from depression; I suppose it's the euphoria from approaching the point in which she earns revenge. Or maybe she's just too deluded to even care about what's going on anymore, to be able to respond to her environment. Of course, it was always the mad ones that you had to look out for in the novels; especially if they were pretty.

"Manners, Sapphire," Ariella scorned, expecting the ginger to take her feet off of the table at once.

"What about them?" She replied, grinning cheekily at the Escort.

I chuckled, adding a couple of little facts to my plethora of knowledge. Sapphire Riddle was very mad and very pretty; I'd have to watch out for her.

* * *

**And here is the next chapter! I am very happy at the morning, so will try to make this a short author's note. Remember, voting is required! You cannot vote for your own Tribute; if it happens twice, they CANNOT win the Hunger Games! Even if they were already chosen as the Victor. Because of the poll, this was a Train Ride Chapter, and the next Chapter will reveal the Bloodbath List. Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts! And vote!**

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	16. Silence is Golden

_Marlene Rosenthall (16), District Five Female-POV_

Ever since I was a little girl, I'd been a sucker for romance. I was the one that would dream about Prince Charming coming, to sweep me off of my feet, and take off with me into the sunset. Somewhere far, far away from Panem, in which my soul would no longer have to combat the darkness that it held. It would be my land, a place that I'm sure I would grow to love; if only I could find the path to take me there. A couple of times, I had thought that I'd stumbled upon it, but now, I'm not all too sure that I could ever find it again.

This was no yellow brick road that I was on; it was evil in the form of steel tracks, speeding me along towards my death. Sure, I knew that I was going to die young; they had told me countless times that I wouldn't be able to recover from this illness. In fact, they had probably even forgotten that I had emotions; just as they forgot that the victims of the Hunger Games get the short side of the stick, in the case of the Capitolites. One of these days, I'm sure they're going to learn; my faith in a human being, I suppose, might have been flawed because of that.

Capitol citizens certainly should not have been considered human. Our Escort, Tilinus Blue, had dyed his skin to last his name; he looked like a Poseidon wannabe. His hair had been spiked up, spray painted gold, so that it looked like a three pointed crown. Around his eyes, which had been injected with a sort of chemical to make them soft gray, little pieces of tattooing sprouted out like weeds. It might have been considered pretty at a Mythology convention, but last that I heard, those only happened in wealthier Districts; we couldn't afford it here in District Five.

"I'm sorry that your Mentors aren't out here yet," Tilinus said, munching on an apple with horse like teeth, "Elektra isn't in the best of shape right now. Day terrors, you know, tends to happen often to the poor thing…However, I suppose we should take this time to learn about you!"

"As if you don't already know enough," I replied, stabbing a piece of pasta with a fork, "All you need to know is what District we're from, how old we are, and what gender we are. That's all that's required to enter the Hunger Games—you don't take anything else into account. For example, if you realized that I have been quarantined from the rest of the District, you would only run screaming from me. You wouldn't care about Reaping me or not; as long as you know that you have your entertainment provided for. So thus, I find your question redundant for the mentality that you posses. Try again, Tilinus, and perhaps you'll be luckier this time."

Jeremy awkward picked up his glass of lemonade, sipping it with wide eyes. He was a nice enough boy, I know, and probably the only one that I would be able to trust in the arena. I glanced over at him, trying to figure him out; so far, he was my only option to consider for allies. Unless, of course, I played a dirty trick; ally with those on the Bloodbath list, and escape while they are probably killed. It isn't often that they live past it; Maya Eberhart was an extreme exception.

"I don't know what to tell you, Marlene," Tilinus responded quietly, "I do hope you have a change of heart by the time we arrive at the Capitol. Otherwise, people may not be apt to like you… I myself think that you could win their hearts over easily."

"And why is that?" I pushed, slouching in my chair, not even paying attention to the rapidly zooming country side from outside of the windows.

Tilinus smiled wearily, "Because you've already won mine."

_Morgan Blake (18), District Six Male-POV_

"Hello," the blonde stated timidly, sitting only a foot away from us, yet in her mind, I could tell that she was a mile away.

I nodded at her, wishing that I would have been able to talk. Unfortunately, an accident from when I was young robbed me of that; most of the time I didn't mind. Normally, I enjoyed the distance put between the rest of the world and me, knowing that I wouldn't have to act the way that society wanted me to. Of course, I wasn't a fool either; I knew that Maya Eberhart would be the only chance of victory that I would have. Without her, I might as well being going into the arena blind, without knowing what to do in any scenarios; I would have to attempt contact.

Opening my mouth, I concentrated, trying to will my voice to spring to life. It was a fruitless attempt; I looked like someone expecting a grape to be tossed at them. Soxalia, my Asian partner, was smiling slightly at me; she probably found me to be amusing to her. Lots of people did, which was another reason that I had learned not to care for their company; a reason that I really hadn't attempted contact beyond today. Sure, I was fluent in sign language, and had neat penmanship, but I knew that it wouldn't be the same; it just couldn't be.

"Before we start, I'm going to be honest with both of you," Maya states, staring at us with piercing gray eyes, "Each of you has something going against you, right now. Wherever or not you can overcome it depends on if you can tell me what it is."

Soxalia looked up, clutching something tiny in her hand, which I can't quite describe. I'm certain that she's expecting me to say something first, which only adds to my frustration; I already know what Maya is getting at. And believe me, it's not something that's just going to go away; it probably will work against me in the arena. I mean, if I had an ally, it wasn't going to be easy to scream for help; I was like an Avox in that way.

With that thought in mind, I noticed for the first time that three of them sat in the room, still, and completely silent. They didn't make a noise if someone stepped on their foot; it would have added them in nature, when hunting. Peeta Mellark would have been the only Victor, perhaps, if he had the skill of silence….Something that I had, I realized; I had the same traits that they had.

Maya was staring at my expectantly, her silver locket clenched in her hand tightly; I'd seen her do that a lot whenever she came to the District school.

"Can you tell me why you're not going to win, Morgan?" She repeats, a knowing look in her eye, as Maya's voice turns sterner.

Thinking of the Avoxes, I glance sideways at Soxalia, wondering what she's thinking of. Behind her green eyes, I can tell that her mind is hard at work. But it's not just that—I can tell that she's _worried_. For someone that hasn't spoken a word since I was three years old, I was pretty good at reading peoples' emotions; it might even prove to be an asset in the arena.

"Tell me," Maya repeats strongly, "Now."

I stare Maya in the eye, a smile creeping up as I shake my head. _I don't know_, I want to say, _I don't know why I'm not going to win; because I am the Victor of this Hunger Games._

Maya grins at me confidently, nodding, "Have you ever heard of the phrase…_Silence is Golden,_ Morgan?"

_Aria Mallows (15), District Seven Female-POV_

"Welcome to the end of your life!" Cypress exclaimed sarcastically, putting her feet up on the table, "You've just earned a one way ticket! Why, you may ask? Because none of my Tributes have _ever_ listened to me! And for the record, even President Gremlin himself admits that I am a genius at Hunger Games strategy."

"Do you really think I'm that stupid?" I interject, staring down at the Victor.

The one that happened to be the same exact age as me; fifteen years old, and she had gone into the Hunger Games at twelve. Sure, I hadn't known her, but everyone was feeling a bit sad the next day at school; no one had expected her to come home. We'd all been hopeful, certainly, but the odds were so slim, especially for someone from District Seven; Datura Gremlin had seen to that personally. Of course, the Careers hadn't expected their supplies to be poisoned when they had breakfast the next day; nor had the rest of Panem, come to think of it.

Cypress really did have a reason to be a bit mad; sure, her means weren't the most grand, but they had always scored a victory. Last year's pair, from the way that she was ranting, had chosen to neglect her advice; Juniper and Axel, too people that some thought the District could do without. While some were jealous of the girl and sick of her attitude, everyone despised the way that Axel carried himself; both of them believed that they were better than us. And in a District of people that were fully intending to rebel as soon as possible, that wasn't exactly a healthy attitude to have.

She smiled up at me, popping the seal off of a root beer, looking eerily like an outlaw in one of the movies they showed at school sometimes. It was mainly when the Capitol students that were insane enough to wish to visit came; and they often chose District One, so they didn't typically come. However, with choppy brown hair, and mischievous eyes—I couldn't decide what color they were, but I assumed green, as it was hard to tell in this light—Cypress would have been able to play the hero. In the eyes of the Capitol, she probably was one; in the eyes of the Districts, she was a murderer, and here in District Seven, we just thought of her as one of the lucky ones.

Cypress guzzled some down, before pausing, "Of course not. I'm just starting to get a little bit bitter…Benjamin has already decided that he is going to join up with the Careers, because he thinks he'll be able to make an impression. However, what he doesn't seem to remember is that everyone is going to be trying that; and they'll all be killed in the Bloodbath like little puppies begging for the only food you have to eat."

Benjamin glared slightly at her, his strange yellow eyes prompting the young Victor to continue, if she dared; I already decided that he wasn't the most amiable person. He had the nickname "Wolf Boy" at school, which made sense, given his odd appearance. People like that didn't typically come from anywhere besides our lovely neighbors at the Capitol; I'd have to watch out for him.

"Explain how you knew that," Benjamin ordered, his fist tense, as he continued to glare at the young Victor.

"It's written all over your face," Cypress replied with a shrug, sipping some more soda, "Now if you don't want me to tell you the truth, I'll be fine with lying to you. I can coddle you, and tell you that you're going to be okay, and that you'll be one of the lucky few that make it out of these games."

She paused, staring almost sadly at the two of us, as if she had already marked us for death. In fact, I knew that she already had; it was the reason that my heartbeat had started to pick up. My only lifeline had just told me, basically, that I was going to die; that I wasn't going to make it out okay. I glanced back at her, feeling tears in my eyes, as I willed her to give us some chance.

"But I won't lie to you," Cypress replied, crushing my spirits in one blow; one tiny word: _can't._

_Jaspe Hallindale (16), District Eight Male-POV_

"And now, people of Panem, we have this year's Bloodbath list!" Clark Hallen cheered on the screen, sporting his normal blonde haircut as always; he wasn't nearly as eccentric as some people would expect him to be.

Instantly, my insides twisted with nervousness; it was a cruel thing, the Bloodbath list. In fact, they didn't even used to have it, until someone high up lost a large amount of money in a bet, just because he didn't know enough statistics. People in the Capitol wanted more people to be involved in their Games as well, so they decided to make a list, done by predictions of one hundred and fifty people, which would be called the Bloodbath list. Most of the time, people marked down on this did end up dying, but not always; Maya Eberhart is an example of that.

"How many do you think are going to be on it?" Natalie asked quickly, as they'd gone to a shot of the giant fanfare at the Capitol, the cameras sweeping over the wild crowds; if it hadn't been about me, I would have been able to feel their excitement.

Gelle, who just happened to be Natalie's sister, shrugged, "Eight to ten. That's the typical number, as they tend to hone in on any sign of weakness. I believe you'll be fine though; they'll take your reaction as a sign of confidence."

"Good," Natalie replied with a grin, relaxing in her chair, "Because I intend to make it into the Careers, which I can't do if they put me on that list. They're almost as bad as the Sponsors that way."

The two sisters chuckled, as they practically ignored Dexie and I. That's the way that I had been for most of the train ride, and I didn't particularly care for it; at least they were pretty. Only bit of consolation I had managed to find, as I'd always been a sucker for a pretty face; Halley had called me a flirt, on occasion. Sometimes, she'd even accused me as being sexist; I didn't have a comment, when it came to that. I suppose that had been because I doubted Willa Hellmans was going to make it out of the arena; it wasn't like she could blame me, though. No pregnant woman had ever managed to beat out the other Tributes; not in the entire history of the Hunger Games!

"Hush, y'all," Dexie muttered, fidgeting her fingers anxiously, "We're going to have to plan as soon as the announcement is over."

The sisters nodded, and I found myself doing the same; going along with the crowd, for once. I knew that Natalie had already figured out a plan, after she'd been Reaped before, and with a Victor for a sister. But I knew that the time was meant for me; to figure out if how much my tiny chance of living was reduced to.

Bracing myself, I heard the first name fall from Clark Hallen's lips, and winced…

_Ivy Montina (15), District Nine Female-POV_

"Mika Litz," Clark Hallen read out calmly, as the photograph of the condemned Tribute appeared on the screen.

According to a helpful little thing at the bottom of the screen, he was only thirteen years old; just two years younger than me. Thankfully, I had managed to get some medicine from Dad before I'd left, so Lara and Mack hadn't made an appearance as of yet. I had enough to last me a couple of weeks; hopefully long enough so I could win. However, this all depended; the boy on the screen looked lanky, though I'm sure that he would have been able to take me out. He had a panicked look on his face, as if he was running from something; something that no one else could see.

If that was true, we would have been two peas in a pod. I could have even given him some of my medicine, too, I'm expecting; provided that he didn't have any allergic reactions to it. I smiled slightly at that, which might have appeared morbid, as the picture of the boy with dark hair and tanned skin vanished, being replaced by a close up of Clark Hallen; I think he recently took over announcing the Bloodbath list.

"Marlene Rosenthall," Clark announced in a monotone, as the Tributes from District Four must have burst out cheering; so far, all of the Careers would be guaranteed sponsorship.

Not the girl from District Five, however, who was only sixteen years old. She had vivid red hair, falling all over the place, and deep brown eyes. They stared hatefully forward, as if Marlene knew that she had been put on the Bloodbath list; that the Capitol already had no faith in her. She appears confident to me, though I believed that her sickly appearance is why she made it onto the list. No one sick has ever won the Hunger Games; not even the disabled Career from District Four last year. A strong wind might have been more than the force needed to take Marlene out; it gave me hope that I might be able to beat at least one person in these games.

"Soxalia Chia," He calls out, not even struggling slightly with the foreign name; they probably have rehearsed this a thousand times by now.

The image that appears is that of a petite girl, with jagged black hair that sticks up at odd angles. I can see that she's very pretty, which might be able to help her, but she wears a clueless expression. It's evident that she doesn't know what's going on; and from her skin tone, I can say that she's probably not from District Six. All the more reason for them to throw her into the Hunger Games. She might even step off of the plate too soon, as well; another girl on the list of people I view to be beneath me. Lara would not have been pleased with my attitude.

It's the next name, however, that shocks me.

* * *

**I rather liked this chapter. ^^ You finally get to learn about the Mentoring style of Maya, as well as seeing what's happening to Cypress. They have to be two of my favorite characters in what I dub "the Gremlin Era." So if you ever hear me talk about the Gremlin Era, just think of the Hunger Games SYOTs that I've written, and perhaps will be adding a third one to the set. **

**The Bloodbath list will be finished up in the next chapter, which will include the train rides for Districts Ten, Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen! I had a Capitol Citizen make a draft one for me, which I edited slightly, as they didn't know the exact "rubric" for who makes it on and who doesn't. Thank you, unnamed Citizen! **

**Anyways, I hope you all have an awesome New Year's! Perhaps I'll even write a bonus chapter and upload it tonight! Remember, voting is required! It's going to help the Tributes, as we can have a realistic Capitol! Thanks!**

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	17. Broken Plates

_Jango Trian (18), District Ten Male-POV_

"Ivy Montina," Clark Hallen continued, ever so calm, without the slightest waver in his voice.

The image of a startled, yet in my opinion pretty, girl appears on the screen. Tears were leaking out of her brown eyes, as her eyes were a little bit off focus, as if they were staring as something no one else could see. I decided that it was probably just the shock of being Reaped, nothing serious; I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. I'd Volunteered to kill her, to watch her tanned form fall to the ground limp, all for my little brother. Yet I knew that it was worth it; I couldn't let my little brother die without trying to stop it!

Ivy's black hair fell in curtains, reminding me of the shawl they sometimes wrapped around e chances at all. In my mind, I whispered _Sorry, I wish it didn't have to be like this_, even though I knew that the choice was completely out of my hands. That there wasn't much that I could do about this, no matter how hard I tried, and how hard I would fight.

In the Hunger Games, all but one is going to die; no one really gets lucky. It's just the way that it goes, something that I can't stop; my power to help the children of the world is limited. If anything, I'm going to be able to save just one, just one little life, a life that belongs to someone that I care about. People might have argued about morals, that it wasn't right for me to be doing this. I didn't care though; I saved some other kid from having to come in my place. So really, I was going to save two lives this way; I was going to be a hero.

And I didn't care about what the others thought. I didn't care that my District Partner, Amya, was probably a little bit wary of me; she'd been crying quietly the entire train ride. There was no reason for me to care, really, no reason at all; she just judged me on the outside. Like so many others, Amya didn't know that I was a funny guy, who was only trying to save a life. I was trying to be the miracle, sidestepping all of the obstacles that came rushing at me to the very best of my ability. So if people thought that I was the bad guy, let them think that. Let them curse my name in the middle of the night, for being the sucker from District Ten; I didn't care.

As long as Lenny was going to live, I would do anything.

"Emyrus Lapworth," Clark said, snapping me back to reality, and leaving District Nine in anguish, I'm sure.

My heart wrenched painfully, as the image of a clueless happy-go-lucky type of boy appeared on the screen. He reminded me instantly of Ebon Furial, the boy Reaped from District Nine last year, who evidently didn't understand the Hunger Games at all. According to the number on the edge of the screen, this boy was only thirteen years old; Ebon would have known him, I'm sure. More so, his light blue eyes seemed to be piercing into my very soul, asking questions that I couldn't dare to answer _What's going to happen to me? What are they doing? What's the countdown for? Why are you holding that spear? _

_ Why did you kill me?_

Clenching my fist, I tried to remind myself again that I was doing this for Lenny. That even if I hadn't gone to the Capitol, someone else would have decided that they would be the ones to kill the little boy; to end the curious sparkle that shone from his eyes. That his windswept dark hair would be forced to lay flat, while the Capitol stylists redid it, before shipping him back home in a box. In fact, that had been the way that both of District Ten's Tributes came back last year; even when everyone was confident that Wednesday, the adorable little creepy thing, was going to win.

Dreams have to die sometimes, I reminded myself, conjuring images up unwillingly. The way that Wednesday had fallen off of that ladder, looking so at peace, when she should have saved her life; we all knew that she could have done it. Or the way that Malaya Finaca, who had a dream herself, was betrayed when showing kindness towards another Tribute. Her dream had been crushed, too.

I could only hope mine wouldn't happen the same way.

_Abrielle Miyo (12), District Eleven Female-POV_

We must have been going pretty fast.

My entire life, I'd never been on a train anything like this before, so it was a little bit of a shock. Beneath my feet, I could feel a rich and plush carpet; they told me it was the color red. The only thing I knew about that color, really, is that blood was identical to it; all I knew about blood was that it was stick and made a mess. I couldn't help but wonder why they'd put a sticky shade there, but I knew that it felt soft under my feet; maybe they were blind, too, and just wanted to appear smart in front of me.

But underneath the carpet, the fuzzy stuff that went in between my toes, I could feel that we were moving. It was an exhilarating rush, different than the cars that my father would sometimes rent, if we were going on a fancy outing; people weren't supposed to know that I existed, other than those in charge of the Hunger Games Reaping. I could feel the rush of energy, as if it was being soaked up by my toes, and sent through my exhilarating me in every way possible. It was a very easy choice to make; I decided that I _loved_ trains!

However, the best part would have had to been the couple of times that we had stopped. It was something about changing the coal, or that we were too far ahead of schedule; I guess District One must have been running a bit late, too. Not that I really cared, as etiquette wasn't something that I judged myself to need, even if I could use it at any time I wanted. According to my Escort, whose name I think was Drake, which would be an advantage over the other Tributes; even Hakoda had agreed.

Sure, I knew that I still liked the boy. That I was hoping he would notice me as something more than the little blind girl, who probably will need some help getting around new terrain until she's ready. Did that mean that I was willing to throw my life away for him? Pfft. Of course not! That's completely and utterly stupid, and only happens to the desperate girls that get Reaped; there seems to be a couple of them each year, too. They always ended up dead, as well, and given my blindness…

Well, I got used to hearing the screaming.

"Shouldn't we be watching the Bloodbath list?" Hakoda scoffed, and from the sound of a bump against the table, he had slammed something onto it.

Ahh, typical Hakoda; using his brute strength to try and make a point. Kaia hated that about him, wishing that he would be a little calmer, a little nicer; even though she knew his heart was in the right place. I just wished it didn't rely so heavily on his stomach; it was almost disgusting what he would do for food. Sometimes, I wondered how he would manage in the Hunger Games; I suppose I was going to find out soon enough. He'd actually do quite well, I thought, considering that he already did scavange. I couldn't help but feel a little bit worried, myself; blindness wasn't exactly going to help.

But then again, since when did I know anything different? It wasn't exactly like I was dependent on my sight; I never had it, so I'd learned to adjust. If I was able to find a well beaten path, which would probably exist from the builders of the arena using it, I could anywhere. I might even have an advantage; I didn't freak out at night, when I couldn't see. As long as I had my four other senses, I knew that I would be able to do this. With or without Hakoda's help; I knew I was going to be able to win.

"The Bloodbath list is designed to break your spirits," a male voice, probably my Mentor, said, "And I doubt that we have any more need to do that. Besides…_Watching_ isn't an activity we all can do. Be more considerate, will you, lad?"

I bit back a smirk, fully intending now on coming up with my own strategy; a private one. That way, no one would ever see it coming. I'd pretend to be the weak little girl; I'd play their part. And as I caused tears to cascade out of my gray eyes—whatever they appeared to look like—I smiled, knowing that I was going to win this Game.

Not him.

_Shiloh Iscani (13), District Twelve Male-POV_

"Amya Kessim," Clark reads, as the Bloodbath list is continued after a brief commercial break.

My heart must have been hammering, not from the fact that this played a major role in how much money I'd be given for sponsorship, but that the commercial had reminded me of home. It was for a sweet shop, based in the Capitol. A really nice couple, with freaky hair and odd eccentric clothing like the rest of them owned it; they had a son, too. His hair stuck up at angles that generally didn't happen, and he was dressed in a white lab coat; I couldn't help but think of home…

Could I have been that little boy?

I tried to push that thought out of my mind, by examining Amya Kessim, the now doomed Tribute from District Ten. She was sixteen years old, I believe, and looked very pretty. She had soft brown hair, with eyes of a similar shade, that was put together nicely. The picture must have been taken from her Reaping; tear tracks ran down her face. She looked as if someone had died recently, red in a hopeless, desperate sort of anger. If I didn't know better, I would have thought that it was one of her friends; hardly anyone died on Reaping day, though.

"Abrielle Miyo," Clark called out, as the photograph of Amya shifted to the Capitol studio, and then to one of the District Eleven Female.

My eyes widened, as I stared at the image of a fragile looking little girl. A _blind _girl that appeared as if a gust of wind would be able to take her out in a second. Her black hair was pinned up in an elaborate bun, with a shiny green headband holding it all in place; little lotus flowers were placed throughout her raven colored locks as well. If she had been just a bit taller, and not nearly as scrawny, most people would have found her to be quite beautiful. Her face was pale for District Eleven, yet tanner than that of Tetra Comn's, and her gray eyes seemed to have a mischievous sparkle. Part of me wondered what color they could have been—would have been—if she had the power of sight.

She must have been rich though, as she wore a long silk dress, that was covering the correct places. Little Abrielle was only twelve; there wasn't a need to show off her chest, not yet, and probably not ever. Flowers were decorating the middle part of it, which was white, while the rest of it was a light green. It wasn't the typical Reaping outfit that one would find; yet it was certainly breathtaking. Anyone else wouldn't have been able to do it, but the little blind girl could…

It made me wonder what else she could possibly do.

"And finally, the very last name on our Bloodbath list," Clark paused, reading it over once more before announcing the last unlucky soul to all of Panem, "Shiloh Iscani."

Suddenly, it felt as if my heart had stopped beating; that instead of him saying words, he'd shot me with a bullet. It was the deafening sound of the nail in my coffin, in which they all laughed and gloated, while River Wolfsbane took the prize. Mayor's Daughter; everyone was bound to love her. No one was going to help me though, as my dad had scared off everyone that could. I gulped, feeling all eyes on me, as Clark Hallen did his famous sign off, which consisted of the latest hit in the Capitol.

_Live Like You Might Be Reaped! _

Yeah, that's a great thing to be playing right now. We've already been Reaped; to them, we're just pawns, little playthings to be broken. If I could get rid of the Hunger Games, be assured that I would. I couldn't see anything that was good about them; one way or another, they were going to change you. And I didn't what to be part of that; I wanted to stay Shiloh Iscani.

Like Peeta Mellark, I wanted to be more than a piece in their sick games.

_Cylana Ellis (15), District Thirteen Female-POV_

"I see that we each managed to avoid that peril," Arko commented, in his usual snobbish accent, which was practically driving me up a wall.

I'd stabbed my fork into my salad while we watched the television set, not even noticing when the plate chipped in half. I received a little lecture for that, but in the end, I think our Escort—Chloha—was just glad that we were both Careers. District Thirteen had finally earned a spot in the Pack, which meant that we would supposedly be seeing more Victors; I couldn't be all too sure, though. Arko was an odd boy, that was to be certain; most people thought that he was a Capitol spy. Not too far off from my own history, which I'd barely even been informed about, but I knew that I ought to keep quiet about it. Or I may find myself facing certain death in the arena; death far worse than Isobelle spilling my secrets.

"Aren't you glad, pretty boy?" I muttered, stabbing into the salad again; it had been my third plate in the last couple of minutes.

Arko snorted, sipping his tea properly, "I am rather swell, thank you. What about you, Miss Ellis? Are you faring well today?"

"My day has been…eventful, to say the least," I replied, spearing a piece of lettuce, with a bit of broken glass as well.

Mmm. Nothing to put you in a better mood than a little piece of plate with your salad. _Cruchy. _Gives it that added flavor, that not even the people in the Capitol have discovered yet. Probably because it might kill them from the inside, slitting their throats as it goes down; all the more reason for them to eat it. Another reason that I didn't care when it fell off of my fork, crashing into the other pieces of the smashed plate, and starting to slowly create a ruin.

It was probably the way someone's head would look in the arena; I'd have to start preparing myself for that. I'd need to be strong enough to do this, to discover the secrets of my own past when the time was right. All I needed to know is that my aunt would be out there in the crowds, watching the Tribute trains coming in; she was probably trying to bring me to live with her, too. And this could possibly be one of her only chances to do so; I wasn't sure if she was insane enough to—

"You seem to have a lot on your mind," Arko interrupted, dipping a biscuit into the tea, before eating the soggy food item.

"Shouldn't we all be thinking heavily right now?" I asked, trying to not let him get to me, though I wasn't succeeding, "After all, this is the Hunger Games. We'll need to come up with plans to survive. Unless, of course, you want to just let yourself strike out early on."

Arko paused, contemplating what to do. I could see the inner reflections going on inside of his head, through his icy blue eyes. Strangely, I could see a sense of warmth coming out of them; a warmth that I told myself not to trust. The Bleau family shouldn't be trusted, and just because Arko ended up in the Hunger Games, didn't mean that I had to be nice to him. In fact, all I had to do was use my own strategy, and he'd come begging to _me _for help.

All I'd have to do is be careful, and watch people. As soon as I learned something important, I'd stash it away in my mental list of things to keep track of. Secrets that would become a valuable trade in the arena, when the Career Pack disbanded. I intended to use whatever resource I could, until I would win; until I can create a better life for not only me, but for my father as well. Perhaps my aunt, too, though Dad hasn't told me much about her.

"I daresay, you're quite the firecracker," Arko commented, completely switching his train of thought.

"And you're quite the wet blanket," I replied sourly, finally giving up on my salad.

` It wasn't going to work out, anyways; some of the glass was starting to turn into powder. It wasn't something that I'd typically ask to add to my salad dressing. Perhaps if I was trying to kill off my fellow Careers in the arena, I would, but that wasn't something that I was looking into doing yet. What would probably happen is that if I took my eyes off of my own safety, I'd earn a knife in the back for it.

And probably some more broken plates…

* * *

**And with that, we're in the Capitol! The next chapter is the Chariot Rides, told by our fabulous Capitol Citizen this year: Jubilee! I hope you all enjoy hearing from her, as she will be covering interviews and other events like that. Now, I would like to remind everyone to vote! This is going to provide for some interesting polls, as well.**

**Currently, the favorite to win is Ribbon Layfeyette. Everyone wants him to have a fight to the death with Sapphire Riddle, and become the newest Victor for District One. Want another fun fact? Vote!**

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	18. Chariot Rides

_Jubilee Templesmith (15), Hunger Games Announcer in Training-POV_

Today, in the Capitol, was a day that everyone left their homes. They flocked to the center of the town by the thousands, fighting over the best seat in the expansive stands. Friendships would be broken, and questionable relationships formed all to catch a glimpse at the potential Victor; no one challenges this truth. Everyone recognizes it, from the welts on the head of a young one, who wanted to sit up high, to the signs of sleeplessness on someone more desirable. To put it nicely, we act like demons on this day; demons with no mind for what we're doing.

I was born on the day that the One Hundred and Sixtieth Hunger Games commenced; that's why my name's Jubilee. I was named after the celebration, the chaos among the families, as they all try to see the Tributes; I was named after craziness. Perhaps that's why I've always acted a bit different, behaving the way one would want me to in public, because of Dad's high position. Our family have been doing the announcements for the Hunger Games for a long time; in a couple of decades, it would be my turn.

"Excited, Jubilee?" Aelius, my dad inquires, fixing his bow tie, "It's not every day that we get to see a new batch."

He winked at me, drawing out a chuckle. Truth to be told, I did enjoy this ceremony; it was a part of me that I couldn't help, despite my pondering. I loved to watch the Tributes blossom in front of us, wearing the most fascinating costumes, which would never be seen on the pages of my storybooks. All in all, that was my favorite thing about our Hunger Games; it allowed them to shine, when they otherwise could not of.

Even with the price in mind that they must pay. But here, we're not scared of death; people with necrophobia are often considered queer. Often times, they are one of the few folks with a religion, but we all don't run into them much. As for me, well, I'm not afraid of ghosts; I'm _fascinated _by them. That's why I often act a little bit differently, hoping that I may meet the soul of a dead Tribute, among the angered celebrations that go on so often here. It's a nonstop party, really; those with hangovers never really do wake up.

That's the same for all of us, though…

_"Welcome to the Chariot rides for this year's Hunger Games!" _Dad cheered into his microphone, while I debated wherever or not to continue reading my book, _"As always, here comes the lovely Tributes of District One!"_

To make a long story short, I put the book down.

I quickly bookmarked it, making sure to have the little handout with the entire Tributes listen on it at the ready. I'm still not sure how Dad and Clarence O'Hallen manage to handle the entire thing by memory; twenty four was plenty, but twenty six is asking for too much! Glancing down at it, I discover the names of the first two Tributes: _Prodigy Mallord and Ribbon Layfeyette. _

Both of them are breathtaking, which reminds me again of why I love this so much. Prodigy's dressed in an elegant gown, decorated with each type of gem you could imagine, and some that you simply couldn't. It had a low cut to it, giving the men of the Capitol a type of show, and some of the ladies, as well. With a feathery headdress, she oozes confidence, smirking forward at us all in a sexy way, as if to say: _Yeah, I'm going to win, but I'll make sure you'll need to be taking tons of cold showers while I do so. _

Of course, next to her, stands a boy wearing almost absolutely nothing. His manhood is exposed for us all to see, with his skin bathed in oils, causing it to have a golden sheen. Most people in his situation would have been blushing to the roots of their hair, but Ribbon smiles lazily, as if he could get used to it; from the amount of screaming, it's working quite well for him. A white robe, similar to Prodigy's dress, drapes on him in the fashion that a cape does; it too is decorated with fabulous jewels.

No wonder the District One Stylists always use up so much money.

_"And here comes the _blinding _Tributes of District Two!"_

Dressed head to foot in gold, Dad wasn't kidding; my eyes were screaming in pain from looking at them. I glanced away quickly, feeling them start to water, and my anger rise up slightly at the failure before me. Most of the time, stylists for the Careers tend to have a little bit of sense, but I couldn't see any right now. Daring a glance back, I examined the toga that the boy—Scipio—wore with a laurel wreath around his head. Avalon, his cocky partner, was dressed in the female version. Both of them wore golden wings, which I believe was to represent Nike, the Greek goddess of Victory.

However, the Tributes don't even seem to notice how much the audience detests their outfits. A couple of oddballs had brought sun glasses with them, and had quickly put them out; dumb luck. On the bright side—ha!—none of them are waving at the crowd. Less movement for the light, which is reflecting the soft glow of the torches, that line the Chariot's path to the road. If I had stronger eyes, they probably would have looked beautiful; golden children of Nike, in fact. Still, I couldn't help but feel a little bit happy when District Three pulled up; that hadn't been fun to watch.

_"Next up, we have District Three!"_

When I see them come out, it takes me a moment to realize how this relates to District Three at all. The girl is dressed in a white blouse, a small black tie casted carelessly over her shoulder. A pink skirt is extremely fluffy—I think they called it a poodle skirt—and looks built for dancing. She wears tiny black flats on her feet, and a winning smile. They pinned up her rich caramel colored hair into a bun, with a tiny black bow catching her eye as she spun. If you didn't glance at her District partner, you wouldn't be able to understand this nifty little idea that the stylists came up with…

Mika—the boy—is wearing a compact black suit. It's perfect formal attire, with a tie that matches the girls, with the only exception being that it's far thicker. Of course, you would have to be blind to miss the metal plates covering each inch of the black fabric, glowing a faint blue light; a futuristic suit. He smiles nervously out at the crowd, waving his hand, which causes a slight trail of blue white to follow it; his partner makes no move to grab his hand, even though he is slowly inching his towards hers. Stage fright, I suppose; understandable, at the very least.

More so than the theme that they had come up with: _The History of District Three. _I docked them down a couple of points in my head, deciding that for now, District One would end up being all the rage the next day. They always were, of course, so that was to be expected.

_ "Behold, the Tributes of District Four!" _

It's the girl—Sapphire Riddle—who catches my attention most. Her ginger locks had been dyed white, and lengthened by the use of extensions; they trailed softly in the breeze, moving like the ripples in the ocean would. Her face had been covered in makeup of a similar shade, with soft blue stenciling drawing swirls and stars, all of which attracted you to her eyes. Sapphire's eyes were shinning with delight, though her face was a calm mask; it was a quiet and awing power. Her dress was elegant, a soft shade of the deepest midnight that sparkled under the lights, reminding you of the stars in the night sky; Miss Riddle had the essence of the moon.

The theme was overused, but I couldn't deny its effectiveness, as I turned my attention towards Caspian. I wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to be, though I suppose it was some variant of Poseidon. A three pointed crown rested on his head, being made of ivory, from what I could tell. He had very little covering, just like Ribbon, though a clam shell was keeping his member hidden from the world. In his hand, which I noticed was pale without the slightest tremble, was a trident, decorated with what appeared to be seaweed. Caspian seemed confident enough to make it far; I deemed the Careers so far to be worthy.

_ "District Five! We're almost half way done, folks!"_

While this outfit came off as cool to the crowd, I couldn't help but sigh from how predictable it was. In fact, I was almost positive that it was the same outfits that the Tributes had worn last year; repeats really did bug me, even if I had only been around for fifteen Hunger Games. The girl wore a mini dress, a tight leather one, that's black material showed off her skinny curves; it contrasted nicely with her brilliant red hair. If she had been smiling, Marlene would have looked very pretty. Instead, her dark brown eyes seemed to turn black in fury; she clearly wasn't much of a happy camper.

Jeremy, the other Tribute, clutched her hand gently in his; I suppose he could have been a genuine friend, yet I was skeptical, and figured that they were merely playing up an angle. He wore a tuxedo, completely black, and stood relaxed. He clearly didn't know that he didn't seem as pretty as his partner, but of course, that's not capturing the complete picture. Jumping off of them were little bolts of electricity—harmless, I'm sure—that seemed to particularly enjoy Marlene's hair. I almost yawned in disappointment, though the rest of the crowd were eating it up like candy; pathetic.

"_Last year's winning District—District Six!"_

Everyone started guffawing as soon as they rolled out, which probably didn't help Soxalia with her sponsorship situation. Really, it was almost like the stylists _wanted _for their Tributes to be killed off in the first couple moments of the Hunger Games. In fact, there wasn't a single redeeming quality that I could find about it; not to mention, the Tributes weren't exactly characters that the Capitol enjoyed seeing either. I couldn't help but sigh—these were the two awkward ones for the year, and I knew it. There would _always _be a couple of people like this; the ones that Clarence told me he hates interviewing. You just know they're going to die, and there isn't anything you can do; nothing at all.

It was painful to stare at the costumes. Each of them were incredibly bulky, causing the two to lose whatever body shape they had; in fact, you would have mistaken them for a pair of marshmallows. Heavy sacks draped off of their forms, painted in bright colors, with lines in the right places, to try and represent a train. If it hadn't been for the giant train whistle hanging around Morgan's neck, which appeared to be more of a necklace from here, I wouldn't have been able to tell what they were.

I sighed, knowing how much I hated the outlying Districts…I wasn't sure if I liked the eye pain of District Two or the train wreck of District Six better; they both had their problems. But in the end, I probably would have had to go with the former District; I liked to pick a winner, you see.

"_And the next Tributes we have come all the way from District Seven!" _

My eyes widened slightly; finally, something original around here! That's what we've been paying the stylists for, after all! They've gone off of the myths of the forest this year, having the girl dressed as a nymph, and the boy as a forest god—Pan, I believe, was his name. Benjamin carried himself proudly, his green toga revealing a rippling chest, which wasn't too uncommon for the lumber District. His hair had been painted a dark brown, weaved in with leaves and flowers, that someone still managed to give off a manly appearance. Over his shoulder, was a quiver loaded with arrows; from the glint, I saw some idiot had given him real ones.

While Aria's costume was put together famously, it was easier to picture her as a pixie, rather than a nymph. The long flowing green dress, with a white shawl for her to drape around her, didn't quite fit what I would have done; the patterns of falling leaves on it, and the way it softly reflected light, was amazing, though. A simple laurel crown was put around her hair, left spiked in its pixie cut, that I found to be rather fitting for her. Most Tributes had long hair, thinking that it would make them glamorous; really, short hair was more practical in these scenarios. That would give her an edge in the arena, as well as giving the stylists some more area to explore; very good things for Aria.

"_Here comes the fabulous duo of District Eight!"_

Naturally, this is the District that the stylists want the most, unlike what most people think. It gives them the most freedom of choice; they're making clothes for a District about clothing. What could possibly be easier than that? They could literally dress them up in anything—and I mean anything—while being able to come off as the District Eight Tributes. It's a freedom of choice, an ability to be creative, that they couldn't experience with the other Districts. Truly, this place is a stylists chance, as well as the Tributes, to shine.

They don't let down, either. The female Tribute, who I believe is the sister of the uppity Gelle McDoe, looks absolutely stunning. She's wearing a skin tight gown, once again with the low cut to arouse the men, which sweeps all the way down to the ground. It glimmers, as it's made from some sort of shiny material, which I haven't bothered to learn the name of. Covered in blue swirls, made to look like wind, I would find it to be the perfect gown to represent winter. I wouldn't mind adding it to my own closet, as well; I owned more than the red mini dress I was wearing currently, which had been a hand-me-down from Datura Gremlin.

Her partner, Jaspe, is dressed in a suit of a similar pattern. The swirls look lovely with his ruffle top, which he adds a classic bowtie to. Along with his brilliant winning smile, his pearly whites sparkling out at us all, he's labeled as a knock out. A rare gem among the filth that we usually get from the outer Districts; the other girls recognize it as well, and start to cheer for him, stealing the show from the previous Districts. That may or may not help him in the arena….Careers don't typically enjoy giving up their time in the limelight.

"_And now for District Nine!"_

For some reason, they were dressed in rags. Not the pretty sort of rags, but the ones that suggested rolling around the dirt; come to think of it, that was probably a favorite hobby of small children in the Districts. But of course, it shouldn't have been something used here, had it not been for what they held in their hands. Each of them had a basket of bread, engineered somehow so that it was bottomless. I never was much into physics, so I couldn't have explained how it worked if I tried. All I knew is that it was working; my eyes were able to collect enough evidence to prove that.

People in the front row were cheering, as the delectable loaves were being tossed in their directions. Even the girl, who had the faraway look in her eyes, managed to smile as she fed the wealthy citizens of Panem. I smiled ruefully, knowing that they had been clever; they were kissing up to the people who would be deciding who to sponsor tonight. And I'm almost positive that they'll remember the bread, if not be eating it at that time. I wished that our box could have been a bit lower in the stands, so that I may have tried some; I loved experimenting with food, since we had such a surplus of it.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, here is District Ten!"_

I had to bite back a snort, as I saw that instead of having their Chariot be pulled by horses, they had chosen _cows _this year. It made perfect sense for their District, but I couldn't help my laughter; it was as if the stylists were trying to be ridiculous this time. After all of the excitement of the Quarter Quell, they were probably just using the little scraps of ideas that they hadn't dared try out then; and for good reason, evidently. Yet as for the rest of it, I realized as my guffawing turned to sighing, they were blatantly unoriginal; just like most of the Districts, it seemed.

Amya Kessim, the female Tribute this time, was dressed as a cowgirl. In my dismay, I sarcastically wondered how long it took them to come up with that; I'm pretty sure they'd been cow-people for as long as I could remember. She had her brown hair pulled back into pigtails, with a pink cowboy hat put on top, pushed back slightly so you could see her natural face. Not a single drop of makeup marred it; well, that was unusual for the Tribute parade. Her skirt and top where both white, while her heeled boots were the same shade as her hat; we're matching today, aren't we?

As for Jango, he was dressed plainly. A thin tie was around his neck, and his belt buckle was excessively large, gleaming in the light; reflection seemed to be a theme tonight. One that I was quickly getting tired of, as I took in the plain plaid shirt that he wore, with the dark brown vest and matching boots. There it was again; another one of the themes that shouldn't have existed. Couldn't they have shown a little bit more creativity?

I had to glance at the clock, to find out that there would only be fifteen more minutes left of the rides; _good_, I was already beginning to get bored out of my mind. And it didn't help that Dad was prattling away into the phone, not speeding things up in the slightest. All he did, actually, was delay it, because everyone across the country with only audio feed would be listening to him. Everyone except me; I, thankfully, had headphones stuffed in my ears, blasting my favorite song to me at full speed. It was what they called _Gothic_, for some reason.

"_Only three more Districts!"_ Dad called out, as if sensing my impatience, _"And we have District Eleven joining us now!"_

Only one word really popped into my mind when I saw them: eccentric. A little blind girl had been Reaped, but that actually was in her favor; she couldn't witness the odd getup that her stylist had selected. I suppose that he or she had looked up facts on District Eleven, when creating this crazy little dress, or researched some of the pop starts from the old days; before the disasters happened, drastically changing the land. And they must have ran out of time when it came to deciding what the boy, Lotus Hakoda, would be wearing….

Simply put, he was completely naked, with no covering at all. The only thing he had was his hair, which was tucked back in a small ponytail-like bun. It was manly enough, mainly because we could all see the proof that he was a boy; it wasn't something that I really wanted to see. And once again, I think that Abrielle, the little blind girl, had gotten lucky; she didn't have to know that Lotus had no clothes on. While she, on the other hand, was wearing a dress made entirely out of apples; somehow, that brought up the idea of picking to my mind. And worry that she would end up being displayed for us all to see, even if some of the viewing population would certainly enjoy it.

"_Here is District Twelve!"_

And unfortunately, it looks like District Twelve had run out of time, as well. It's only a little bit better than Lotus Hakoda's situation, as the two of them are covered head to foot in coal dust. River's curls are weighed down by it, or somehow tamed by an iron, as they rest completely flat; as straight as a ruler, in fact. You can see the color of their eyes, a bright blue, as it's the only part of their body that isn't gray.

I tried not to vomit at how comfortable River looked, wearing nothing, while thousands upon thousands of men were staring at her. In fact, she even winked teasingly at a couple of them, behavior that I would have expected from one of District One's Tributes, but certainly not her. I tried to get used to that idea, as I often associated children of the Mayors to be well behaved; not the bad girl that I saw before us. Yet Shiloh must have known that too, as his blush outshone his coal dust, providing us with a lovely view of his bright red cheeks. He was tempted to cover himself up with his hands, but River must have noticed; she grabbed both of them a moment later.

I wasn't sure wherever to feel sorry or disgusted.

"_And lastly, we have District Thirteen! Give them a hand, folks!"_

If you had paid attention at all in your science or math class, you would have appreciated District Thirteen's outfits. Each of them wore a white lab coat, covering up what from a glimpse was slacks, button up shirt, and a loose necktie. It was stuffed with pens, little equations being written down on the sleeves; E=MC2 must have been the largest one, written directly on the sleeves. Both of them had their hair spiked up, looking as if they had stuck their fingers in a light socket.

Not that I had done that, of course…

Adding to the effect, even though I don't believe Einstein wore them, were circular glasses. The type that you would see the geeks in the Capitol wear, to establish themselves to fellow lovers of what most people would hate, being required to go to school until the age of ten. Cylana and Arko crossed their arms with a grin, pulling out a calculator every now and then, to cleverly type in some message. One of them, for example, was: 43110. Not everyone in the crowd got it, but those that did chortled, watching the Tributes talk back and first, using only numbers.

Most of them didn't realize that as Dad announced that President Gremlin would come out and give his speech, that these Tributes were alive; they weren't born to die. But then again, I'm not even sure that I understood that; after all, I'd already eyed a favorite from the lot. One of the sheep that I thought might just be able to escape; an escape that I didn't even care about.

That's the problem about my home; no one cared.

* * *

**It's rather late for me right now, so I'll keep this short. I'm sorry for any typos-as I said, it's late, so I probably missed a few of them. I also would like to know what you thought of Jubilee; I was trying to go for a different Capitol vibe, one that existed, but wasn't often used in stories. They all seem to have someone bubbly like Anita in them. :) I hope you liked Jubilee, as this is not going to be the last time that you hear from her.**

**If you are interested in Percy Jackson, please go check out my profile! I have a link to a site that you would find very fun. ^^ Also, this is the reminder that votes are required. Each time, you'll get a fun fact about the statistics so far. Which reminds me...**

**Fun Fact: In the top eight Tributes (via votes) all but one are girls. **

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	19. Training Day One

_Prodigy Mallord (18), District One Female-POV_

"Welcome Tributes, to the training center for the Hunger Games!" a grim faced lady, with blonde hair pulled back in a painful manner, announced to us all, "My name is Chaos, and this is my first year running the center. One of you is going to remember this time fondly, knowing that it saved your life…"

_The rest of you will be dead, so it won't matter then. _Her unspoken words must have seemed chilling to the others, as harsh reality that they hadn't yet been prepared to face. I wasn't a stranger to these types of speeches; they had become a favorite hobby of Dad's to come up with. Most of them ended up having me undergo some sort of physical harm, yet miraculously, I didn't have very many scars to show from it. Just memories of lemon juice in my eyes, and experiencing what it was like to drown; I'd picked up swimming as a hobby after that day.

Chaos seemed to have lost her train of thought, so I swept my eyes down the line of Tributes. A couple of them looked strong, decent enough to be invited into the Careers; as long as they were gullible enough. I learned that mixing in other Districts is never a good strategy; they don't have that sense of loyalty engrained within them. There would be no taking risks on the path to being a Victor; one hundred and seventy five people had already managed to win the Hunger Games, and with each one of them, I can learn something new. I can aspire to greatness; the greatness that I already posses.

"Well then," Chaos muttered, glancing off towards her fellow trainers, "Please follow the safety regulations at each station you go to. I cannot afford to have any of you to get hurt, so if you will like to spar, an assistant will be available. If there is a weapon or anything else that you may desire, please do not hesitate to order it from an Avox…That will be all."

Oddly enough, no one made a single motion. Everyone remained standing still, including Chaos and her team, as an awkward sort of waiting period happened. Someone was going to have to break the ice, clearly. I rolled my eyes, blowing a piece of dark brown hair out of my face, all of the makeup scrubbed off earlier. They were all cowardly fools; ones that wouldn't provide me an exciting Victory for the Hunger Games. I wouldn't be written down in the history books, remembered as a fierce and powerful Victor. Instead, with a win this pathetically easy, I'd be forgotten as soon as the next face came around.

And if the Capitol could forget me, which I knew they could, that would reduce what my win would mean to my father. It would become pointless, almost, not sparing Helena from the training she is already forced to do; she just can't simply keep up with it. How could one expect a blind child to function normally? They're locked away in a world all of their own, communicating through a natural barrier; Father didn't seem to understand that. And that's one of the reasons why I want to win; I need him to spare Helena.

"Cowards! Careers, move out!" I ordered, marching forward briskly.

Tossing my curls over my shoulder, I examined each one of them carefully. My District Partner, Ribbon, looked on the verge of fainting; his hair was dripping with sweat, while his muscles trembled, as if he was in the midst of some fierce battle. He had a way of holding himself, though, that suggested that he was trying to find help; help that he knew he wouldn't find. I couldn't help but sigh, glancing at the other potential Careers; the pairs from Two, Four, and Thirteen. All three of the girls looked amused—especially the one with thick blonde-brown hair—while the boys were simply staring off into space.

Normally, I would have bit back a vicious remark, not wanting to anger potential allies. However, I could see that I was going to have to whip them into shape; I would end up being the leader of the Careers this year. District One is traditionally in charge, anyways, even if it was hard to remember who had led last year. They had been so dysfunctional that no one could keep track of anything; I think it was Griffin, though. Not that I mattered now, with all of the whimpering weaklings remaining in line, which I stared at them with exasperation.

"Fine," I snarled, "If you don't have the guts to get to work, be that way. It's only going to make it easier for me to smear your corpse against the floor of the arena."

Once again, only silence welcomed me. The little boy from District Nine—a reoccurring theme, I supposed—was glancing around the room impatiently. His District Partner had a nervous look to her, as if she was afraid that someone was going to come attack her. _Good. _The hopelessness that shines on the faces of these Tributes is going to help provide for an even bigger show at the Capitol. Provided, of course, that they would be able to get a move on.

The girl from District Twelve caught my eye, with her wild red curls running amuck. She was smirking up at me, her eyes shinning mischievously, as she mouthed a single word to me. _Failure. _And she knew that it struck home, as she turned her grin into that of an angel, when one of the silent trainers caught her eye.

"Seriously?!" I screeched, marching off to one of the training stations, "You might as well just make me Victor right now! None of them are going to do anything!"

"…What are we supposed to be doing?" Little Emyrus whimpered, finally paying attention to his surroundings.

_Brilliant. _I'll be in the finale fighting the little snot rag from District Nine; that's going to make me remembered for sure! And hated by that District, though it's not like they would have loved me anyways. I sighed, making sure to send a decent glare to each of the Careers; the District Four boy's eyes widened slightly upon receiving it. Well, at least that was some slight progress. I honestly would have thought everyone would rush towards the stations, fighting for one on one with the top trainer. Not this sort of…._protest_ towards doing what we're supposed to do!

I was almost shocked when the female from District Eight—Natalie McDoe—stepped forward, heading towards the Archery station. Jaspe Hallindale followed after her quickly, acting like a nervous little wreck of a puppy; I jotted this down mentally for future reference. If she had any skills, she may be someone to look out for; someone to replace the otherwise gutless Careers that had gathered here so far. The District Seven girl jogged over to the camouflage station, dragging her District Partner with her; everyone else was starting to disperse.

I smiled cockily to myself, when I noticed the wide berth they all gave me. Right now, I was Queen of the Tributes; Empress, if I felt daring enough to say so. My throne room would be painted in red, with doting subjects, falling over from my blades by the minute. Candle lights would flicker, until all but one had been snuffed out, stronger than the rest; it represented my future.

_"This way, Abrielle,"_ a voice said, distantly to my ears, "There are some steps…Feel it out slowly."

I turned my head slowly, as if all of time had slowed down. I blinked, not believing what my eyes were telling me; _Helena _was the District Eleven Tribute! I could never forget those gray eyes, clouded with unknown sadness, with a tiny pinprick of hope trying to grow. Helena's hair had been pulled back into two braids, making it so that I couldn't have made out of her.

_"I can feel for myself, thanks," _Helena replied, turning her head slightly, towards the general direction of the tanned boy.

Her skin was tanned, the type that you only get from living in the more southern Districts. My breath hitched, refusing to go down, as a rollercoaster of emotions went through me. That girl wasn't Helena; my sister was home, safe, or at least for now. But unease crept through me, staring at the uncanny resemblance that the two shared. Guilt washed through me, as I wished that the girl would just die; I wouldn't have to think about her anymore…

"Queen of the Tributes," I muttered to myself, before drifting over to the sword station—I needed someone to spar.

_Mika Litz (13), District Three Male-POV_

Morginth had suggested that Emiliana and I stick together during the training portion of the Hunger Games. Something about how this would make the Capitol like us more, if we could sell each other as a team; I could see why they would go for something like that. Heck, I'd been willing to do it, even if she had an aura of general nastiness surrounding her. Emiliana had a way of brooding, as if bothered by something that had happened in her past; I was usually a good judge of people, so I couldn't help but wonder what it was…

There must have been at least a thousand different back stories out in Panem. Millions of different situations that one could end up in, and shift others into, all via the butterfly effect. Someone could have been living in the Capitol, but because something happened today, out in some distant place, their entire life could be changed. I didn't have people or street smarts; I had something far better. A grasp of the workings of the world around me.

If only I could have had a grasp of the climbing robe above me…

"Hey, District Three!" a voice jeered, revealing a cocky blonde leaning against the wall.

I quickly glanced him over, identifying him as the odd Career from District One. He had the number, after all, put down on the sleeve of his black training suit. It was put in the middle of a blue circle, with the light color creating little wispy swirls around the fabric; it was a pretty interesting design, for something we were preparing to kill in. His hair was messed up, in a fashion that appeared fashionable, and his light eyes were staring at me intensely.

"Yeah?" I asked, sliding to the ground with a thud.

My ankle rolled, as I bit my lip in pain. Ribbon's eyes darted downwards, as I grabbed the swaying robe casually, using it for support. I didn't want to look too obvious about it though; that would have me marked down as dead meat.

"_I cannot afford to have any of you to get hurt."_

Oops. I guess she didn't get her wish, then, I realized with remorse. She might get in trouble if anyone found, so I gingerly tried to place some weight down on my left foot. Unfortunately, I was rewarded with hot, searing pain; the likes that you only feel when you know it's bad. Biting down on my lip slightly, I tightened my grip on the rope, feeling the pain lessen as I took weight off of it. I'd probably have to tell my Mentor, though from the way that Ribbon was grinning at me, I could tell that someone already knew.

A dangerous someone.

"How fast can you climb that rope?" He asked, the mischievous glimmer in his eye prominent.

"What?" I asked, gulping, as I tried to limp backwards slowly.

Ribbon wetted his lips, eying the room over, before repeating, "I said, how fast can you climb that rope?"

I wasn't exactly sure what he meant, though I was guessing it would be in my best interest to get out of there. A quick look around confirmed my thoughts, that all of the trainers were busy helping someone; and it didn't look like they would be done for a while. I'd hate to ask an Avox to come to my aid, because judging by the murderous look in Ribbon's eyes; they would probably receive another beating. I didn't want to be the fault of that; I hated the fact that there was even an idea of an Avox.

And it wasn't as if I had the body strength needed to escape up the rope, as Ribbon had suggested. My limp foot wouldn't help matters either, though that wasn't something that I should be focusing on. I really should be shouting for help; no one finds out what happens during these sessions, anyways. All they know is the pretty glittering score; it was a foolproof idea…Yet it felt incredibly dumb and naïve to me.

"I haven't tried to yet," I stated lamely, my gob running before I had a clear idea of what to do, "Did you want to use it, man? That's fine with me…"

He shook his head, "Not at all. I'm not a chicken that runs away, hurts his limbs, whenever some sort of boogeyman comes out to get him. I'm not sure if you could say the same, Kika."

"It's _Mika,_" I corrected, ignoring the first part of his sentence.

Ribbon waved his hand dismissively, "As if I care, Kika. All that you need to know is that as soon as the Bloodbath begins, you're _mine_. Got it, circuit boy?"

I gulped slightly, before plastering a cheesy grin on my face. In the old Hunger Games, the Master of Ceremonies was Caesar Flickerman; he was quite the character. I found that I was able to do a decent impression of him, right down to the goofy little Capitol accent. The one that would be the last kind voice many people would ever hear…But I tried not to think too much about that, sweeping my black hair backwards, in an attempt to match his fashion.

"Why, of course, Ribbon!" I said, uplifting slightly at the end of his name, using that cheesy television style voice, "I do look forward to seeing your performance!"

"Very funny," Ribbon muttered, staring at my dangerously, "I'll make sure to…to…."

Spontaneously, Ribbon just stood there, muttering the same word under his breath, over and over again. Creases appeared in his skin, as he started to tremble, his skin going from extremely pale to as red as a tomato. It reminded me of the kids in school that would have a meltdown, because something had set them off; or the way that an evil robot in the movies shuts down.

Fortunately for me, Ribbon didn't appear to have any interest in killing me at the moment. Not yet, anyways. If anything, the man needed an aspirin, a nice glass of water, and a nap. I would have liked that two, though I'd trade the aspirin for some fancy Capitol medicine; they had said that the Avoxes would bring us anything. And the angry—no, confused—boy appeared as if he was going to need some. Maybe it was a trick, though?

"To what?" I pestered, leaning on the rope again.

"To…," Ribbon mumbled, pausing slightly, before exclaiming, "Dammit, Z! I told you-"

"Told me what?" I asked, feeling confused myself now, "My name's _Mika_. Not Z….Are you alright?"

Ribbon opened his mouth to speak, only to stagger forward slightly, nearly colliding into me and the rope. I bit down on my mouth slightly, hoping that some other Tribute would come over, wanting to use this station. That way I wouldn't be stuck with the insane blonde right now, who was sweating profusely, and barely able to stand up. He was in need of either a physical trainer or a psychiatrist; perhaps both, from the way he curled in slightly. The way people do when they're about to throw up their lunch.

"It d-doesn't involve you!" Ribbon stated, his snarl turning into a pathetic whimper.

"Are you two losers going to let me use the rope already?" District Seven's pixie girl grumbled, stepping over towards us.

If it hadn't been for the reproachful stare that she was sending at us, I would have been glad that she had come over. I probably shouldn't have looked a horse in the mouth though, which Ribbon was demonstrating, feebly keeping his gaze on the floor. Maybe this meant that the Careers weren't as tough as they always seemed to be? I couldn't up but hope that, since it would make winning this game so much easier.

"Well, what's it going to be?" She snapped, rolling her eyes at Ribbon ever so slightly, "I don't have all day!"

"Er…," I paused, staring at her, "What's your name again?"

I could only hope that she was oblivious to my blush. Her grey-green eyes narrowed, scanning over me as if looking for a point of weakness. However, I didn't quite see her as being the mean chick she was portraying herself to be; I could see tiny laugh lines on her face. If anything, she probably felt a little bit threatened by us. It's such a strange world…One that often doesn't make sense of the nonsense.

"Aria Mallows," she answered sourly, "It's not like they haven't announced it a million times by now, you know."

"Sorry," I replied, blushing furiously by this point, "I just have a bad memory when it comes to names…Even my own."

She laughed slightly, before resuming her grim appearance towards the two of us, "Now, are you going to answer my question or gawk at me?"

I cursed in my head, realizing that she had noticed. It's not like I've ever acted this way before, either; it's just from the nervousness of this all. That would have to be it; nothing else could make any sense to me. I wasn't much of a people person, so I couldn't be able to tell what she was thinking. Or…Or what she was feeling….

"I-I'm not quite sure," I stuttered, wincing slightly as Ribbon barfed on the shinning floor of the training studio.

I'd hate to be the Avox that had to clean that up…

* * *

**I hope you all enjoyed that chapter! We got a glimpse at Ribbon, Prodigy, Aria, and Mika. Some tensions are developing, and we learned a bit about possible alliances. :) It was a lot of fun to write it~**

**Reviews are love. ^^ Votes for Tributes are like candy. You get the idea XD**

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	20. Training Day Two

_Datura Gremlin (20), Head Gamemaker-POV_

Normally, this would be a time in which my attention was completely focused on the Tributes. I would have my clipboard out, putting down stars for the people that I was going to aid. It was playing god, a concept that most people didn't tend to think about, but I relished it. Each moment of it, I savored with something that some people would call wicked. However, in my family, it was merely normal; it was something to be celebrated. With each new idea I came up with, each new scenario that I explained to Cooper, watching his fascinated terror eclipsed his face; _that _was the reason that I kept on living.

However, my stomach was twisted into knots with dread. It had only been a year since I received that fateful news, before I learned how drastically everything could change. Everything that I had been working for, my dreams and my hope; it would all mean nothing. Beata knew this deep down in her heart, as I could feel her staring at me timidly, waiting for the moment where I would snap. I could feel the weight of all the eyes on me, staring me down, trying to make me collapse. For if I fell, so did the Gremlins.

"Miss Gremlin!" Beata exclaimed with a terrified squeak, "Miss Gremlin!"

"What?" I hissed, turning around angrily to face her, feelings of déjà vu creeping up.

She gulped, nervously straightening a bombshell blonde wig. It was an unsuccessful attempt, as a mass of curls covered her violet eyes, reducing her beauty to that of a bald monk. Her pink dress was wrapped tightly around her, appearing to be more of a straightjacket. And I _knew _she needed one.

"W-w-we need your draft for ones to a-aid!" Beata stammered, handing a felt covered clipboard to me.

I growled at her, eyes narrowed, "What did you think I was doing?! Smelling roses, eh? Bah!"

She bit her tongue, "I th-thought that…you may have been thinking about…the conditi-"

Striking her across the face, I smirked, enjoying the wide eyes. This was what I needed; a little bit of terror to cause when I'm moody. It was lovely, seeing her perfectly applied eye makeup run, as she wept like the little baby she is. I snorted, shoving her backwards, before jotting down a note to myself. She'd have to be replaced…_permanently._

Shakily, I grabbed a sharpie, barely glancing at the names. _Strike. Strike. Strike. _By the time I was done, each name but one was covered up in black ink, leaving who I had chosen to be the Victor behind. After all, what's the point in making a game fair? It's all the more fun to give someone an advantage…To be able to fiddle with the cards, and chose who is going to win.

And chose who is going to die.

_Emyrus Lapworth (13), District Nine Male-POV_

"Alright, Tributes, you will have one hour to eat lunch!" Chaos, the grim faced lady announced sternly, "If you have any allergies, ask an Avox to-"

"What's an allergy?" I blurted, frowning, "Is that some kind of tomato? I hate tomatoes. They're too _squishy_…"

Chaos cleared her throat, while everyone else broke into a fit of the giggles. I frowned slightly, feeling extremely confused. Of course tomatoes are squishy…I thought everyone knew that. Or maybe they're all playing a joke on me; like Ebon, for not coming home. He's probably around here somewhere, playing with dinosaurs and eating all of the allergies he wants. _Lucky_!

"Very funny, Mr. Lapworth," Chaos frowned, staring at me as if I had done something wrong.

"But what's an allergy?!" I exclaimed, my bottom lip drooping slightly.

Everyone burst out laughing, until someone's voice called out. I remember that it was sweet; like honey falling from a waterfall. I would have preferred it to be chocolate, but I could remember the tantalizing feel of it…

"An allergy is where your body attacks itself from the presence of something…Like nuts," Amya, the pretty girl from Ten, stated softly.

"Way to ruin our fun, Ten," the District One boy growled, jostling her slightly, in front of the ever so wary Avoxes.

"Oh, shut up," Amya moaned, rolling her eyes, "I just want to go eat. I'm tired, and don't need to deal with the likes of you."

"Are you sure?" One purred, pressing himself against her, causing her face to explode into color.

Chaos rolled her eyes, staring down at the blonde boy. Whatever he was doing, I could guess that she wasn't too happy with him. Though, I don't think I'd ever seen her act happy; she was probably just born mad. With that ugly face of hers, she probably would have scared her momma and her daddy to death; she might have been an orphan, too, just like me. But she probably got _loads _of dinosaur toys; lucky Capitol lady!

"That'll be quite enough, Ribbon," Chaos said sternly, "If you cannot demonstrate simple chivalry now, I would hate to see your behavior in the arena."

Ribbon seemed taken aback by that, his lips curling around his teeth. He looked like a wild animal, ready to pounce, and rip off the head of Chaos. Someone must have stopped him from playing with his ponies that morning, I gathered; I'd lost my temper that way too. I'd been called a Hufflepuff for it, since I can't digest lactose; odd, huh? It didn't make much sense at all to me.

"Well then," he huffed, staring at her, "I suppose you'll enjoy breaking the law by not watching the Games. But if you do, I'll make sure to use proper manners while killing eachpathetic imbecile in this room."

"Is that a threat, Mr. Layfeyette?" Chaos uttered calmly, motioning to the creepy guys in white with her pinky finger.

Ribbon's body tensed up, as his blue eyes began to dart around frantically. Each of the strongest looking kids in the room stared back, as if daring him to do something about it. The weird looking lady on the train with the big fat wig had called them the Careers; does that mean they went to a special school? They were always talking about getting a good career at school, but these people don't seem very nice. And what would you do with them, anyways? Give them cookies and dinosaur toys? I bet they'd make the dinosaurs cry.

"Chaos," a sullen voice sounded, as a girl with dark brown hair and a sinister smile began to approach the blonde boy, "I shall deal with my District partner. It's the least I could do, after all."

The girl turned her head, gazing towards the grim faced trainer. While she changed her smile to look sweet, her eyes were glowing with something nasty. Something that smelled worse than rotting cheese; I didn't like that girl. Wrinkling my nose, I couldn't help but decide that I'd have to do something about it. And besides, they'd been mean to the pretty girl from earlier.

"Be right back! Potty!" I blurted out, before dashing off.

I couldn't help but giggling, as people were giving me puzzled looks. I wasn't going there at all; I was going to get all of the allergies I could hold. And teach those meanie Careers a lesson in friendship! Like the purple dinosaur on television!

_Arko Bleau (16), District Thirteen Male-POV_

"Blimey, doesn't anyone around here have some Jammy Dodgers?!" I complained, sitting down at a table.

"A Jammy what?" Sapphire snorted, eyeing me with distaste.

Rolling my eyes, I glared at the red head. She was a worthy opponent in some cases, but in others, she was more of a pest. Worse than the old gits that insisted they knew everything, and that Panem was the only superpower that could be. But didn't anyone here learn that only Britain is great? Apparently not, and they had a perfectly morbid lack of all good sweets. There wasn't even a jelly baby in sight.

Sapphire coughed, looking at me sourly. Her hair was unkempt, springing about in every direction in a mass of curls. There was a flask in her hand, and I couldn't have helped but wish someone would spike it. Unfortunately, it was blatantly obvious that she had a fellow; Caspian followed her around like a love sick puppy. Boy could use a good snog, too; probably never had one in his life.

"Pardon me, love?" I said dryly, "Someone stick something up your—"

"Don't you start with me!" Sapphire snarled, stabbing her fork down into a piece of salmon.

Smirking a little bit, I reclined back in my chair. She looked even better with her face red, and I could understand why my brother acted like this so much. It was just divine to mess with people, especially when your accent outclasses them in every way. I couldn't help but feel like a king, as the pairs of my fellow Careers murmured among themselves. Caspian almost looked a little bit desperate, staring at Sapphire, while Ribbon and Prodigy conversed. Even Avalon and Scipio were quietly whispering to each other, casting restless glances around the room.

If one of them was plotting to commit mutiny, I wouldn't have been that surprised. Yet fortunately for me, I wasn't the leader. None of them would be coming to yell at me, and from what I've heard about Cylana's plan, I could follow in her lead. Get even more information out of them than she could, and be able to make it back to home and country before the year was out. It all seemed brilliant but one little flaw….

"Damn it!" I bellowed out suddenly, standing up, "Where did you simpletons put the tea?!"

Avalon stared at me, her gaze seeming to bore into my skull, "Why's it matter, Arko? Just a bunch of yard trimmings swimming in mosquito bait."

My eye twitched in exasperation, looking around sharply. First, they don't have any Jammy Dodgers, the most delectable snack on the planet. And now the sods over here have drunk all of the tea! It's as if they're trying to ruin my day! Nothing separates an Englishman from his tea!

"You don't get it, do you?!" I growled, slapping my face in exasperation, "Bloody hell! Didn't know I'd end up in a lot of idiots as well!"

Sapphire giggled, purposefully tipping her cup to show at me, "Want some, silly boy?"

It was a small cup, made out of porcelain, and hopefully wouldn't be spending its future as a toilet seat. A small little bit of steam curled out of it, reaching upwards for the rafters. The gray contrasted somehow, but yet, my attention was drawn more towards what was in it. Herbal tea; freshly brewed, I could tell. And of all the people to have it….It had to be _her_.

"Bloody yes!" I snarled, stomping towards her.

"Oops," Sapphire giggled, tipping the cup so all of the tea poured out, "Guess you're out of luck, then!"

My eyes grew wide, nearly whimpering as the tea poured out onto the ground. It was practically in slow motion, as each caramel colored drop after drop crashed downwards, spraying all around. The tea possibly could have been salvaged, but Sapphire quickly grabbed a can of Pepsi, and poured it down on top. That monster…

"How…How dare you?!" I stammered, flabbergasted, "That was perfectly brilliant tea! And…and…and you!"

"I what?" Sapphire yawned, tiredly picking at the stray ends of her hair, "Did I upset you, ickle Arky?"

I opened my mouth, ready to bite back a vicious reply. Yet instead, I watched with surprise and satisfaction as someone lobbed a tomato, hitting her square in the nose. Letting out a snort, I couldn't believe my eyes as soon, all of the other Careers were targeted as well.

"Good shot, old boy!" I shouted out, turning around to face whoever had done this.

"FOR DINOSAURS!" A little whippersnapper cried out, throwing a tomato at me.

_Splat! _It landed squarely on my precious face, obscuring my vision. I couldn't see nary a thing, and tried to stumble my way towards the washroom. Only to be pelted by an army of pecans and grapefruit, which quite hurt, and I was certain I'd have bruises tomorrow. Hmph. I suppose that's one must expect of the peasants.

"I'll teach you a lesson," Prodigy practically purred, scooping up what seemed to be cream, and flicking it at the young lad. Some of it ended up dripping down his pants, and the older ones of us couldn't help but snicker.

"I'M GONNA WIIIIN!" He taunted, standing up on a table, "Who's with me?!"

Wiping the gunk out of my eyes, I began to be able to survey the scene with more perspective. A couple of the Tributes were grinning, looking at us Careers with our clothes sodden in food. We certainly wouldn't be getting any dessert tonight, I thought with dismay. Yet I glanced down, spotting a couple of tarts. I shot a glance at River, and picked it up without even thinking.

"You know, it's a bloody shame that I couldn't do this with tea," I stated, winking at her, as I smeared it all over her face, "Green tea, to be precise. You'd look lovely in green."

River recoiled with horror, grabbing the nearest thing that she could—a salad—and dumping it down my pants. She seethed with rage, glancing around quickly, almost like a ticking time bomb. I would have taken a nervous step backwards, but she was just a ginger girl. Surely, nothing could go wrong, right?

"FOOD FIGHT!" A deep voice called out, and I didn't have time to finish my thought.

* * *

So, some of you are probably wondering why I haven't been posting. I could give you several reasons. I could talk about stress and nerves. I could talk about drama going on in my life. I could talk about writer's blocks. But, I'm going to talk about the largest reason why I haven't been posting. I've had this chapter sitting there, nearly done, for a couple of weeks. I know where the story is going to go, but there's a problem..

I feel like no one cares about it. I'm writing this story for you. Not for me. I feel like no one reviews. And that if they do, it's only a short two word blurb. Now, think of yourself as the author. How would that make you feel? Do you know if they like the plot developing? No, they really don't. People on Fanfiction, in general, don't review often. And that's what kills stories.

That's all I have to say.

-Wisteria

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	21. Training Day Three

_Scipio Masca (16), District Two Male-POV_

Glancing over at the tables, I remembered how the events of yesterday had unfolded. A Peacekeeper for just about every Tribute had arrived, each of them sporting a taser in case someone was going to resist. They grabbed at us, restraining us, and had Avoxes come in quickly to clear up each little morsel of food. It was futile to resist, yet humiliating, especially for us Careers. We were then marched up to our rooms and tossed inside, with no access to the elevators. A food fight before the Hunger Games clearly wasn't acceptable. But what would it matter? In a few weeks, all but one of us would be dead. It would be me naturally, and I suppose they could take away our dessert privileges if they wanted to.

"Scipio?" Caspian questioned, staring down at the sword in his hands awkwardly, "How do you, er, use this again? I'm rubbish at swords…Tridents are more my style, being from Four and all."

I nodded, before correcting his grip, "Two hands, unless you fancy having one of them chopped off. And by that point, they can come in for the kill, and slice off your head."

Smirking a bit at him, I scooped up one of the long swords for myself, tossing it lightly in the air. It felt brilliant under my finger tips, which were always burning with energy. Energy to kill, which had filled me since the death of my mother. This was how a Career should feel; this was the way that I was meant to be. Not a bumbling drunk that barfed all over the escort; I am Scipio Masca, and by all means, no one else is going to make it out of that arena but me.

Maybe, just for kicks, I would teach it to him incorrectly. When the Bloodbath comes around, the little geek from Four would have his guts spilled, bleeding painfully all over the Cornucopia. Wouldn't that just be great? And if it wasn't for the ferocity of his District Partner, I would have done so. Instead, I sighed, and began to give him a quick lesson.

"A sword isn't so much about strength," I told him, starting to circle his wimpy form, "It's clean and precise, almost like you're slicing through water…Don't cut too deep as well, or you'll end up with your blade stuck inside of them. In battle, that's almost certainly a death sentence. Most people tend to avoid those, nerd."

Caspian nodded, holding his sword with a fumbling grip. His back was straight though, so the kid couldn't have been too horrible. Inspecting him further, I found that there was a certain seriousness behind his eyes that unnerved me. It chilled me, as it looked as if he had seen a thousand things that no one else could detail. Shaking my head a bit, I reminded myself that he was probably a hopeless nut job like the boy from District Five last year. It wasn't something to pay too much attention to.

"How should I cut?" Caspian asked, his weak limbs trembling in exhaustion.

Well, it was pretty to easy to tell which Career would be going down first. Snorting a bit at my own joke, I demonstrated, slicing at angles and moving gracefully, always keeping in balance. Caspian tried to imitate it, but instead, ending up doing something more like the funky chicken. Sighing, I tried to show it to him again.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt this," a pretty girl with caramel colored hair said, chuckling to herself.

"But?" I inquired, whipping the sword out of Caspian's hand before he hurt himself; the blubbering fool.

"Clearly, you all aren't quite up snuff this year," the girl said, eyeing Caspian with distaste, "I'd like to join you. I'll be an asset to the alliance…Instead of dead weight."

"How do we know you aren't going to betray us, kid?" I asked, glancing her over; fairly decent build, and looked like she had been well fed.

"It's Emiliana," she corrected with a frown, "And personally, Malaya Finaca disgusted me. She Volunteered for the Hunger Games because she didn't think she was pretty. It's a stupid reason to go kill people."

Leaning backwards against the wall, I couldn't help but give her the label of a hypocrite. She herself had Volunteered for the Hunger Games. What makes her any better? Cocking an eyebrow, I asked the question silently, preferring to only speak when needed. I didn't have the energy to do it, and quite frankly, it seems like a waste of time.

"If you're going to Volunteer for the Games, do it for the right reason," Emiliana said with a smirk, "Do it for the glory and honor. Not for a bunch of split ends."

"You've got spunk," I commented, looking her over, "What's your weapon of choice?"

"A sonic screwdriver, obviously," Caspian said, grinning proudly, and snickering a bit at his own joke.

Emiliana and I both stared at him for a moment, wondering what it was. Eventually, he sighed and stalked off by himself, muttering away about something not being able to do wood. Glancing at each other, I gave her a nod of acceptance, and she grinned with pride.

"You won't regret this," Emiliana promised, before dashing off to spar with one of the trainers.

I watched her go, staring at those caramel colored curls. People had told me that several times before. Gladys herself had said it to people…Right before she ruined their lives. Glaring darkly in her general direction, I took it was an omen. A portent of something that was going to come. I'd have to kill her during the Bloodbath.

I had to do what it took to survive, no matter the cost to my honor or sanity.

_Jeremy Carath (18), District Five Male-POV_

I had camped myself over at the camouflage station, sitting in the midst of the trees. Here, no one could hope at finding me and disturbing my thought processes. I could see each person plainly, but with the aid of the paintbrushes—which I doubt would be supplied to us in the arena—none of them could see me. The Careers were each at a different type of weapon system, some of them throwing knives at targets and launching arrows, the others beating the trainers half to death. Dismally, I knew that they only reason they didn't finish the job is that they didn't want the wrath of the Capitol during the Hunger Games. Being the lap dogs, everyone was going to sponsor them. No one was going to care about the outliers, and certainly not someone from District Five. Crushing a leaf under my hand, it broken into tiny pieces, and threw it on the ground in rage.

"Thank you," a voice came off quietly, as a Tribute entered the small little forest they had set up for us.

With a sigh, I scaled up a tree, and resided in it, glad that my painting should still work. As long as they didn't gaze too closely at the part designed to match a rock. Examining the person, I found they were short, with spiky jet black hair. Meekly, the girl looked about, until her uniform betrayed her identity as the Tribute from District Six. She smiled to herself, as if she could see things that people couldn't see, and began to color her skin green. Unfortunately, the paint kept on dripping off, melting like hot wax, and thus didn't work properly.

"Look, I'm just trying to see if you want an alliance or not," a gruff boy asked, pushing through the brush, "We can infiltrate the Careers together and bring them down. Do something for the outlying Districts. Be remembered. Don't you want that?"

Soxalia shook her head, "Benjamin, I do not understand. In my…In a place that my father told me about, people were worked to death. And then they were killed. All out of hatred. Is not this kinder?"

Benjamin stepped into the light, his eerie gold eyes staring at her coldly. Creepily, I could have sworn that his hair had been silver, or at least that had been how I remembered it. Yet now, it was a dark shade of brown, though my memory usually wasn't wrong. Frowning, I came to the conclusion that a stylist had dyed it for him; probably to not freak out potential sponsors.

"You're not from here, Soxalia," Benjamin said with a wicked grin, "I'm not the only one here that's willing to abuse a secret."

Soxalia's eyes widened, their jade green depths swimming with fear. She bowed her head, looking at the floor, covered in a mixture of paint from failed attempts. With the green liquid oozing off of her arm, it looked like she was some sort of monster. Soxalia glanced up again, tears swimming in her eyes, and she nodded dejectedly. Biting my lip, I missed hearing what she said. But it didn't matter; what she did next told me everything that I needed to know.

"What do you want me to do?" She whispered, glancing around quickly, "They might be watching…"

Benjamin nodded, "There are approximately two other Tributes hiding in these trees right now. They'll be our first targets. After that, we'll be replaying a classic. Join up with the Careers. Convince someone from District Five or District Three to help us dig up the mines, and blow up the most skilled Tributes in the arena."

"Okay," Soxalia stated softly, looking at him with mistrust, "Will you kill me?"

Benjamin turned his gaze away for a moment, staring up through the covering of leaves. His gaze had an intensity to it that looked like it would burn them to a crisp. Petrified that he would notice me, I didn't notice the sleek form of a girl with black hair creep out of the trees, and dash out of sight. Someone wanted to target me in specific; the odds of me making it out of this alive just got harder.

"Yes," Benjamin answered with finality and not a trace of regret in his voice, "I fully intend to."

_Jango Trian (18), District Ten Male-POV_

It was near the end of the training day. In a couple of minutes, they'd call in the first District to present whatever they had prepared. Given that it would be Careers, the Gamemakers would be impressed, and slowly become more disgusted with the Tributes as it when on. Letting out a deep breath, I nervously put my katana back down on the rack, trying to keep my mind clear.

It didn't work. I kept thinking about my little brother, stuck back in the District, and needing better access to medical care. No one in my family knew how to take care of him, so we were doing our best to make ends meet, and take him to the doctor whenever we could. In a soft story that we tell each other around the fire, some generous person would have sponsored for his care. Someone would have tried to help him, or at least given us a bit of a break.

Staring down at the sword rack, all of them shinning and ready to be used to kill, I let out a sigh. Violence wasn't the answer to everything; but right now, I had to kill for my brother's life. It was the only way that we could possibly afford it, and if I didn't return…Well, most of our income would stop. My dad died a long time ago, and all of the benefits of his job went with him.

"Hiya mister!" Emyrus, the cute little boy from District Nine said, tugging on my pant leg.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I made myself smile as big as I could, and bend down to his height. I was Brobdingnaggian when in comparison to him. And to make matters worse, I knew that he didn't grok the Hunger Games; he was a goner for sure.

"What's up, buddy?" I asked with a grin, "I'm Jango. You're Emyrus, right? Mind if I call you Emy?"

Adorably, he broke out into a grin. I couldn't help but think that he had degenerated with the rest of his peers, as most kids his age weren't this slow. Perhaps he had some kind of condition. Biting my lip, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the little guy. I had to do something…

"I don't mind," Emy chirped, brushing a bit of his hair back, "I'm looking for an…an…an ambulance!"

"An ambulance?" I questioned, chuckling, "Do you mean an alliance, bud?"

He nodded eagerly, "Yeah, one of those thingies!"

Clapping him on the back, I hoisted him up, and placed him on my shoulder. Emy grinned and laughed a bit, playfully bonking my nose. Grinning, I glanced around the rest of the training area, looking for more people to add to this alliance. Emy needed a makeshift family, I could tell, and I was going to make him one.

"So, bud, you've got one," I told him with a grin, "Do you want to add anyone else to our little duo?"

Emy nodded, before pointing towards his District Partner. She sat by herself off in the corner, shaking like a little ball that was ready to burst into tears. The other young boy in the arena this time, the one from District Twelve, stood looking at the edible plant station hopelessly. Emy pointed at him also, looking back at me, as if to see if that was okay.

Nodding, I opened my mouth to answer, only to be cut off by a scream. Madly and seeming deranged, the girl from District Five laid on the ground, shaking around violently in pain. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head, and I recognized what was happening instantly, Emy however, gazed on in fear.

"Seizure," I whispered to him, watching as a pack of Peacekeepers flocked over, wearing gloves, "That's called a seizure, Emy."

* * *

Here's the next chapter. Training scores are up next. Interviews following that, and then we'll hit the Bloodbath! Please leave a review.

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